Lucy in the Sky
by RaptorSaysRawr
Summary: Following his death, John Lennon is taken to a world of his creation where he meets a girl by the name of Lucy. She helps him move on, but he finds himself back in the year 1959. With her help, he gets a second chance at life. What will he do differently?
1. Lucy

_AN: Oh look, a new story! :) And I haven't even finished the other one. But I HAD to get this down. I personally like the idea, which I got by listening to Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, obviously. It's not an ATU story, obvs, so if that's what you're looking for then you've come to the wrong fanfic. I apologize for at... Anyway, currently working on the second chapter which I will post over my break if you're interested! Please read and review, yes? :D_

Chapter 1: Lucy

In early December one night, the world was alive with anticipation. People milling about in the chilly New York weather felt the minute telling of an evening no one would ever forget. They waked past the Dakota building, lingering a bit longer than they should, but they only assumed it was because they knew who was in there. Slightly giddy knowing they were mere feet from a celebrity, they continued their nightly stroll with a pep in their step.

Cool air swirled about, uplifting spirits everywhere, but for how long?

Stars twinkled overhead, lighting the path for one John Lennon and his wife, Yoko Ono. The pair emerged from a car, eager with the knowledge of the productive recording session they had just left. With a smile gracing his serene features, John wrapped his hand around Yoko's tiny one and together, the loving couple began the short journey to the entrance to their home. Before they made it, however, John caught site of a sinister-looking young man. He turned a quizzical stare on his wife, who raised her brows, and that was the last thing he saw before the world went black.

The night was eerily still.

/.\

John woke a while later, a great gasping breath leaving his lips as though he were afraid he would never breathe again. He placed a tender hand on his chest, which was throbbing uncomfortably but he could not figure out why. He then realized the throbbing was everywhere. What had happened?

Now that he was more aware, he suddenly found he did not know where he was. He sat up slowly, wonderingly. He was in a small boat floating down an odd orange colored river. A hand trailed lazily through the candy water in amazement. The banks were made of a gentle pink grass dotted with large, beautiful tangerine trees. Looking up he found comfort in the never-ending expanse of marmalade skies decorated with fluffy, cotton candy clouds. He could stay in this paradise for hours.

"_John_."

The voice startled him. He thought he was alone in what could only be described as a dream. Slowly, he turned and discovered what he assumed was an angel. She was tall and slender, her wheat-colored hair blowing gently in the nonexistent wind as she stood on the shore. He was immediately drawn to her eyes; they were a bright starry blue but there was something in them changing, churning. It was as if he were looking into a kaleidoscope.

"Hello," he called out tentatively. "Er, who might you be?"

She smiled tenderly and answered in a melodic voice. "My name is Lucy."

John smiled back without knowing why. Some part of him already knew who she was. "Hello there, Lucy. If you don't mind me asking, where are we?"

She followed his boat, walking gracefully as her eyes never left him. "You should know, John. You created this place."

He frowned. "I did?"

She nodded patiently. "Look around."

He reluctantly took his eyes off of her and did. "Well…I see…" He thought for a moment and suddenly, everything clicked. "_Cellophane flowers of yellow and green towering over my head_…" The brightly colored flora waved invitingly to him.

"Do you see now?" Lucy asked

"I think so," he replied, his back still to her. "_Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes and she's_—" He turned quickly, frowning when he found himself alone again. "Gone."

In an instant, the wind picked up and carried hundreds of invisible voices to him. The flowers, trees, sun, everything sang to him in an attractive tone. "_Lucy in the sky with diamonds. Ahhh…_"

His little wooden boat carried him farther down the river. Up ahead there was a bridge beside a handsome fountain. His heart swelled at the sight of a lone figure standing above him on the bridge. Her smile was radiant, as well as those of the rocking-horse people munching cheerfully on their marshmallow pies as he drifted past the incredibly high flowers. Suddenly, Lucy was beside him in the boat.

"Why am I here?" he asked after a comfortable silence passed between them.

She didn't answer immediately, instead choosing to twirl a finger in the river water. Finally, she asked a question of her own. "Do you remember anything that happened before you arrived?"

He thought for a moment, his brow furrowed. "I was…I was with someone. Yoko was it? She's my—"

"I know."

Though he was terribly curious as to how she seemed to know so much about him, he continued on. "We were coming home from the studio. It was late at night. And cold, very cold. Why isn't it cold here?"

"Because you don't want it to be," she responded, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Oh. Okay, then. Well, we were walking towards the Dakota when…when I saw someone. He didn't look right. I…remembered seeing him earlier in the day. He wanted my autograph. But now…I don't know what happened. Everything went black. Lucy, what happened?" He asked, his voice straining under the horrible realization. He knew, oh yes he knew. He did not want to believe it. Somehow, he knew she would know as well. If he heard it from her, than that meant…

"You're dead, John."

He shook his head vigorously, hoping that that would clear his head and the horrible words filtering through it. He couldn't be _dead_. "No, no you're lying. I'm not dead. I'm only sleeping. Ha, I'm dreaming. It's all a dream. This isn't real, you're not real. I'm dreaming. Pinch me. Wake me up. Wake me up, Lucy!"

She watched with sad eyes as he grew more frantic by the second. "Please, calm yourself child."

He scoffed. "Child? You're no older than my oldest son!"

"Nor are you," she told him softly. She gestured towards the water beneath them where the world was reflected. John's eyes went round at the sight of him. His hair was shaggy, much like it had been before he…But he was _younger_. He was nearly the same age as Julian.

"Wake me up, Lucy, _please_," he demanded in a strained voice. "This isn't real. It's not, it can't be!"

"John," she said in a firm but gentle voice. She placed a hand on his arm and with the other, she tugged at his shirt slightly, revealing a healed over wound.

"What…what is that?" he asked shakily.

"The reason you're here."

He shook his head again, tears welling in his eyes. "No…"

"I'm sorry, John."

'No!" he shouted. Lucy jumped back, startled. "This is some joke, yeah? The lads are going to come out of hiding and yell, 'Surprise!' and then you'll laugh and I'll laugh and we'll all live happily ever after. The end."

"John, why would I joke about something like this?"

"But…I'm in a fucking dream right now, talking to a girl me son drew. The sky is orange, the grass is pink, the flowers are made of cellophane…this isn't real."

"It's Heaven."

"Why would Heaven be this?"

"Well, this is more of the In-Between. When you first go, you're brought to a world of your own creation. This is why we're here."

"But I look like Julian!" He suddenly stopped, horror taking over his features. "Oh God, I have to go back. My family! I have to take care of Sean, Julian, Yoko…" The tears returned. "Lucy, I have to go back to my family! Won't I ever see them again?"

"Of course you will. You'll be able to watch over them from the destination of our journey."

"Where is that?"

"There." She pointed towards a lone mountain in the distance. "That is where you will live out the rest of your afterlife."

"So you're saying I have to move on? And I'll never be able to actually talk to them?" She nodded. "I don't think I want to…"

"But you must follow me into the sky to live among the diamonds."

"Can't I stay here? In the…what do you call it? The 'In-Between'?"

"Not many people choose to remain here."

"But if I _did_ I could travel back to Earth, couldn't I?"

"I suppose…" she answered slowly.

"Then let me stay here! I could live here and go see my family. I'd be like a ghost, wouldn't I?"

"Yes, but—"

"It'll be perfect, then! I could hang out here and just float down the river and when I get bored I could check up on the family and—"

"John—"

"—it'll be like I never even left! Maybe one of the boys will be a seer or something and be able to communicate with me—"

"John!"

"—and then I could stay with Yoko and we'll just live together and—"

"John."

He looked up at Lucy. Her kaleidoscope eyes were churning with irritation. "Yes?"

"It doesn't work like that."

"What do you mean?"

"One person I met in the In-Between," she began. "He decided the same thing you're thinking. He wanted to stay in his world, a tropical paradise he often visited as a boy. It was beautiful and he thought he'd be happy. When he wanted to, he would return back to his original home. He watched his children and wife grieve over his loss. He wanted so badly to comfort them and tell them he was right there but he couldn't; he wasn't allowed to touch them or talk to them. His children grew up, his wife eventually moved on. He played witness to her fall in love with another man who his son and daughter began calling father. He was miserable and alone. He wanted nothing more than to take back what he had seen but he couldn't. Now the task of moving on was a difficult one. I've been trying to get him to come into the light—it's been over ten years and he's currently stuck on Earth, left to wander the plains alone."

John watched her, absorbing the words she had spoken carefully. "So you think I'll be miserable and alone, then?"

"It is a very likely possibility."

"Well, you're wrong."

"John, it happens all the time. In situations such as this, it is better to admire them from afar. But…" She suddenly trailed off.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He didn't press the subject. "Do you know this from experience?"

"What?" she asked distractedly. "Oh, no, I have a different situation than, say, someone like you."

"What do you do for a living, then? Or, a dying I suppose? What makes you so special?"

She chuckled. "I'm glad you seem to be back to some semblance of your normal self. I was given the task of assisting souls in the journey from the In-Between to the primary part of Heaven."

He leaned forward, intrigued. "So you're saying the man in charge made you his special angel?"

She quirked an eyebrow and smiled. "One of them, I suppose."

"There're others, then?"

"Of course."

"Why'd I get you, then? Not that I mind."

She laughed. The sound was light and carefree, causing John to smile. "You already know me."

"No, I know Julian's friend Lucy."

"You didn't make the song about her, though. The song was based on the drawing but it was about me."

"How's that possible?"

She flashed a mysterious smile. "One day you'll understand."

"You sure are a strange bird."

"I know."

"Where do we go from here?"

She tilted her head towards the shore where newspaper taxis suddenly appeared, ready to take them away. He nodded in understanding and quickly pulled himself out. He offered a hand, which Lucy accepted with a smile. Together, they walked hand in hand to the vehicles and climbed in the back, their heads in the clouds.

"Now I must ask something of you," Lucy said once the cars began moving.

"Anything, my dear."

"You must promise me that moving on to the afterlife is okay with you; that you will not doubt this decision."

John scratched the back of his head. "I…I don't know. You say it's what's best?"

"From what I've seen, yes."

"Then I trust you."

She stared at him silently. "It's not a matter of trust in me. You must trust that you've made the right choice."

"I don't want to suffer. But I don't want them to suffer either…"

"My personal opinion on the matter is they will feel more secure knowing you are happy."

"How will they know, though?"

"They always do."

"Won't I ever get to have some sort of contact with them?"

"I also believe you have more power over that up there, in the sky." She pointed above them to emphasize her words. "You can throw little twists into their lives, things that let them know you're still with them even if you physically aren't."

"I think that'd be okay."

The taxis stopped moving. Lucy stepped out and this time, she offered a hand to John. He took it and immediately felt comforted.

"Where are we now?"

"A place where you must go on your own."

He began to panic. "You're leaving me?"

"Relax." She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "I will be with you shortly. But I cannot follow you now."

"Why?"

She ignored his question. "Close your eyes," she instructed and he willingly obliged. She began humming the tune to a song he was all too familiar with, a song about her. "_Ahhhh_…"

His eyes flashed open. He was alone. Somehow, he ended up on a train. Plasticine porters with looking glass ties meandered about, smiling kindly at him. He turned to gaze out the window and gasped. Images of his life flashed by as the train hurtled through his In-Between. He saw his mother, his Aunt Mimi, Paul, George, Stu, Pete, Ringo, Cynthia, Julian, Brian, George Martin, Yoko, Mae, and Sean. He saw his younger self performing at clubs in Hamburg and the Cavern. He witnessed Beatlemania again. He saw his marriages, the bed-in, Strawberry Field. He saw the man, Mark Chapman, shoot him dead. He saw the pandemonium it caused. He saw grieving people, memorials built in his honor, celebrations held worldwide to honor his birth and death. The train stopped moving and he stood woodenly. He got off slowly and there at the turnstile was the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

"Are you ready to follow me into the sun?" She asked, extending her arm towards him.

He looked past her, into a great ball of light that loomed ever closer.

_This is it_, he thought. _The end of the road_.

"It's not the end," Lucy told him, reading his thoughts. "It's the beginning. Are you ready?"

He nodded and took her hand. "Ready." They walked into the sun, blinded by the bright light. John heard gunshots, followed by Yoko's pained cries of his name and screeches of shock.

Then everything went black.


	2. Tastefully Screwing Things Up

Chapter 2: Tastefully Screwing Things Up

John's eyes fluttered open in what seemed like seconds. His head was pounding painfully. He groaned and hid under his pillow.

"John, wake the fuck up," someone snapped.

"Go away."

"We've got things to do!"

Something dawned on him. That voice was eerily familiar. He hadn't heard it in years. Had he finally moved on?

"John, come on!"

No, that voice was also familiar. But _he_ couldn't have been gone, too, could he? He slowly opened his eyes, allowing the faces to swim into his vision.

"I'm not dead?" he asked aloud.

"No, you're not dead, you dolt," Paul McCartney answered in frustration.

"But if you want to be, we can fix that," Stu Sutcliffe told him with a wicked grin. "Dog pile on John!" He suddenly jumped on his friend, followed by Paul and George Harrison. John yowled in pain as someone's head collided with his stomach.

"Get off of me, you fuckers!"

"Get out of bed!" Stu challenged.

This was an odd situation. He pondered what was going on as the boys fell off the bed and wrestled one another on the floor. He was supposed to be dead. Some psycho shot him seven times in December of 1980. He ended up in Heaven where he met an angel. She told him she was going to take him to Heaven but instead, he woke up in his childhood home with his friends attacking him. How was that possible? When he heard Stu, he figured he really _had_ moved on. Stu had been dead for years. But Paul and George? Something wasn't right here.

"What time is it?" he asked, propping himself on an elbow.

Paul stood and dusted his pants off before checking his watch. "Noon."

"Day?"

"You're really out of it, ain't ya?" John rolled his eyes.

"The eighth of December, 1959!" George answered in a strained voice as Stu had him in a headlock.

"Geesh, will ya cut it out you mongrels?"

"Mongrels?" Stu snickered. "Fancy vocabulary you've got there, Lennon."

"Wait, you said it's '59?"

"What's up with you, man?" Stu asked, releasing George who was turning blue.

"That bird lied to me," he murmured.

"What bird?" Paul asked.

"No one."

He pulled himself out of bed and walked the halls of a house he knew so well, even years after he moved out of it. He shut himself in the bathroom and stared at his reflection for a long time. He was nineteen again. This was madness. Had Lucy given him the chance to redo his life? Was there something he needed to change? He shook his head and splashed cold water on his face.

"Open up, you swine!" someone shouted from the hall before banging on the door.

"John, I will not have your friends ruining my house!" his aunt yelled from downstairs.

He chuckled and opened the door. "I won't let it happen, Mimi!"

"Take them outside or something, will you?"

"Alright you animals, let's go for a walk," he said to his friends who scowled at him.

He slowly approached his closet and hesitated. It was full of things he hadn't seen nor worn in ages. He pulled out a leather jacket and gingerly stroked the material. A laugh escaped his lips as he pulled it on.

"You sure you okay, John?" Stu asked from his spot leaning in the door.

John turned to look at his oldest friend. He looked good, healthy. It was a shame he didn't know a problem existed before it was too late.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno, you've been acting kinda funny today."

"I'm just happy to be alive," he answered truthfully with a smile and skipped down the stairs, Stu trailing behind him.

Mimi suddenly appeared at the foot of the stairs, a frown forming on her face. "John Winston Lennon, you will not gallivant through my house like some sort of undereducated Scouse, do you hear me?"

John mock saluted. "Yes, ma'am."

She sighed and shook her head, though the corners of her lips tugged up ever so slightly. "You boys have fun."

"Okay Mimi!" The others exclaimed as they shuffled out of the front door.

"Where're we going?" Paul asked, shaking a cigarette out of the pack and offering one to his friends.

"We're just walking, ain't we?" Stu asked as he lit his cigarette.

"That's what it looks like to me," George added, slicking his hair back.

"Oho, we've got ourselves a right laugh, here!" John rolled his eyes and smacked the back of the younger boy's head.

George scowled and patted down his hair. "What was that for?"

"Your existence," John muttered in monotone.

"Seriously, where are we going?" Paul asked again. "I've been cooped in me house all week, I'd like to do somethin' entertaining."

John suddenly stopped as déjà vu washed over him. He knew he had already been in this situation before but he had failed to fully acknowledge that. Now, though, the whole thing seemed bizarre. He glanced at Stu, counting backwards from five in his head and sure enough as he got to one:

"There's always your new girlfriend," he said with a smirk.

George laughed and John couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. The tips of Paul's ears burned red. "I was thinking more along the lines of your mum," he finally managed as the laughter died down.

Stu grimaced. "Oh, horrible thoughts. Thanks for that, McCartney."

"I aim to please."

"What, his mother?" George questioned, fighting to keep back another laugh.

"Yours too while I'm at it."

"I'm thinking he goes for the fathers more, actually," John interjected casually.

Stu laughed but suddenly sobered. He gave John a funny look.

"What?"

"I was going to say that," he answered slowly.

John had to work to hide his horror. Now he remembered Stu saying that. Some part of him told him that it was imperative he not let on anything was amiss. "Guess that means we're twins, then."

Stu furrowed his brow. "I don't think I'd want to be related to a swine like you."

"Har har."

"Really, where are we going?"

"That new diner up at the corner."

"So you give _him_ an answer," Paul scoffed.

"Quit yer whining, son!" George scolded in an impersonation of Mimi.

"Mumbling under your breath is a rather daft thing to do, young man!" Stu joined in.

"Ah, make 'em stop, Lennon!"

"Nothing I can do about me auntie, son," John said with a sad shake of his head. Then he smiled and quickened his pace. "Race ya!"

"No fair!" George shouted, taking off after him.

"You swine!" Stu added, following suite.

"You lot are mental!" Paul called after them, not wanting to crinkle his jacket with the exertion of running. But once he realized how silly he looked walking alone, he chased after them.

John couldn't quite explain it. There was something there, at the diner, waiting for him. He felt a pull deep within, guiding him towards the spot. Perhaps the forty year old John would have believed in all of that spiritual mumbo-jumbo but teenage John saw it as a load of bull. Even so, he could not deny that there was a certain energy emanating from the place. When he finally stopped before the diner out of breath, before George and Paul but after Stu, anticipation boiled through his system. Something important was going to happen, something that didn't happen in his former life.

"You all should never even try to out run me," Stu pronounced proudly, flexing his nonexistent muscle.

"Ah, bugger off," John playfully shoved him and slumped to the curb.

Paul whistled slowly beneath his breath, gesturing to someone behind John. "Get a load of her."

The boys all turned to look. George's eyes widened, Stu immediately raked a hand through his hair in an effort to impress, and John became speechless. He stood gradually, his mind doing cartwheels. She was petite and shapely, with long hair that was silken gold. Her back was to them but even still, he knew she really was a beauty.

Stu elbowed John. "Bet she's good in bed, John?" He winked.

John was about to heartily agree when she turned. The world slowed as her hair whirled about before settling, giving them all sight of her eyes. They were as blue as the sky and there was something magical there. _The girl with kaleidoscope eyes_.

"Lucy?" he called incredulously, pushing past the gawking George as well as Stu and Paul, who had just begun arguing over who would get to chat the pretty blond up.

Her eyes found his and she smiled. "Well, hello there. Didn't think you'd recognize me anymore."

He forced his mouth closed and approached her tentatively. "Of course I'd know it's you." Suddenly, he pulled her into a hug. She made a little squeak of surprise but wrapped her arms around his neck. The boys raised a brow and chuckled.

"Nice to see you, Johnny," she whispered into his ear, sending chills down his spine.

"What's going on?"

"I think I know what's going on," George said, earning him a snicker from his audience.

Lucy rolled her eyes and looked back at John. "Not that I'm not happy to see you but d'ya think you could let me go now?"

He hastily withdrew his arms and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Care to introduce us to your lady friend, John?" Stu called, the smirk evident in his tone of voice.

John looked to Lucy for some sign of what to do. She was staring intently at Stu, hand on hip.

"Do you honestly not remember me?" she challenged.

"Am I supposed to?" Stu asked in confusion.

"Stuart Sutcliffe, I am appalled."

She looked back at John, who somehow found the right words to say. "She used to go to school with us, remember? Only, she graduated ahead of us."

Comprehension dawned on the boy. "Lucy? Lucy Caulfield? The one who graduated early and went to America?"

John began to panic. What was she going to say? He was terribly surprised when Lucy nodded and Stu swept her into a hug.

"Oh my goodness! It's been forever! How've you been, Lou?"

"Pretty good, Stu!"

"Is there anything new?"

"Not much, how about you?"

"I've found something you can do."

"Does it involve a who?"

"Maybe someone you can woo?"

"I think I'd have to say fuck you."

"When and where?"

"Oh, you ruined it!"

Lucy and Stu suddenly doubled over in laughter. John, Paul, and George watched their little banter in mild curiosity. John was shocked how the two seemed to genuinely know one another.

"Care to explain?" Paul asked over their continued giggles. "I'm Paul, by the way, and this is George."

Lucy flashed him a smile and his eyes widened. There was something odd, yet charming about her. "Charmed." She held out a hand which Paul kissed. She watched him, impressed. "I think I like him. Anyway, back in school when Stu started calling me Lou we'd see how long we could hold a rhyming conversation."

"Whoever lost had to buy the winner lunch," Stu added.

"So I was always well-fed," Lucy finished with a wink.

"Would you like me to provide you with nourishment once more for old time's sake, my dear?"

John unconsciously reached for her and it didn't go unnoticed by the others. Stu smirked as John let his arm fall back to his side. Stu leaned towards his old "friend" and whispered,

"He's always had a thing for you, ya know?"

Lucy grinned wickedly. "I think you're talking about yourself, ya know?"

He feigned surprise. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Why don't you take the munchkins inside and I'll make you pay for me later, yeah?"

"Munchkins?" George demanded. "Who're you calling munchkins?"

"I don't mean it in a derogatory way, love!" she laughed. "Relax! I call everyone that."

"He's very touchy about his youngness," John told her.

"Nothing a hug can't fix, eh?" She pulled an unsuspecting George into the circle of her arms and buried her face in his jacket. "Better?" she asked, voice muffled.

"Much," George responded in a daze.

"I think I'm hurt, too," Paul suddenly exclaimed. "Can I have a hug?"

She motioned for him to come closer and she threw an arm around him as well. "Do you two want to get in on this?"

John and Stu didn't have to be told twice. They gathered in a group hug, failing to notice when Lucy squeezed out of their circle. She giggled as they realized they were simply hugging one another.

"Ah, the old Caulfield trick!" Stu said, ruffling her hair affectionately.

"That didn't happen," Paul said in finality.

"Yeah, that's not what those birds down there are saying," Lucy told him as she pointed to a group of giggling girls down the sidewalk. They looked towards the boys and laughed even harder.

"Ah, fuck."

"Come on, lads, let's go inside." Stu ushered them into the diner and turned to look at John and Lucy's lingering forms. "You coming?"

"In a sec," she answered. Stu nodded knowingly and walked into the establishment. When he was gone, Lucy took John's hand and laced their fingers together before pulling him around back, through a concealed entrance there. They sat in a booth in a far corner away from prying eyes.

"So what's going on?" John asked again. Lucy simply cocked her head to the side and gazed into his eyes. "Lucy?"

"Wait," she instructed.

"What are you doing?"

"Shush!"

He raised his brows but said nothing. Her eyes flitted closed and she inhaled deeply before blowing the air out in a great puff. After a minute or two she finally looked at him.

"What was it you wanted to know?"

"If you could explain what's going on."

She nodded slowly. "The last time I saw you, it was nearly twenty years into the future. I met you with every intention of ferrying you into your afterlife but as we crossed into the sun, I was stopped. One of the other watchers of the In-Between gave me a message. Apparently, the Man of the Sky did not believe you should cross over. He did not like the way things were played out. He felt you were taken from your life too early. He saw your potential, what you meant to the people here. There was no need for you in the Afterlife, at least not yet. He's giving you a second chance, John. This does not happen very often."

John absorbed her words, eyes wide. He was going to be able to live his life again. Suddenly, he was very overwhelmed.

"Are you alright?" Lucy asked in concern.

John blinked, trying to clear the white spots blossoming in his vision.

"I…I think so." He paused. "If I'm being given this chance, why are you here?"

She frowned. "Do you not want me here?"

"No! I mean no, that's not it. I'm only curious, is all."

Her eyes narrowed. "Okay. I was told to follow after you to assist you in this journey. To make sure you don't completely screw it up, you know?"

He chuckled. "They sure have a lot of faith in me up there, don't they?"

She smiled. "Of course. John, I must warn you—I'm here to assist but there's always the chance that we won't succeed."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if you were to meet me in the sky at any time, your fate will be permanently sealed. If in twenty years we assemble in the diamond field, things were meant to remain the way they originally happened."

A feeling of dread consumed him. "But we can try to make sure it doesn't happen, right?"

"That's the plan."

"What about Stu? How did he know you? I'm certain there was never a Lucy Caulfield in our school the first time around."

"I had to have a back story, didn't I? I just had a bit of help from a higher power to make sure people knew it."

He nodded, thinking. "How did I end up here, though? Why not take me back ten minutes before that Chapman bloke got to me or something?"

"There are obviously other things He believes need a bit of tweaking."

"So what is this, time travel?"

"In essence, yes."

"How does that work?"

"You're curiosity is never-ending, is it not?" She asked as she watched him in amusement.

"Well this is a special situation and I honestly want to know how this all happened. How did I meet you? How did I end up as a teenager again? Is any of this really real?"

"Of course it is. Don't I look real to you?"

John surveyed her through his thick lashes. Without her expecting it, he leaned across the table and pinched her.

"What was that for?" she demanded incredulously, massaging her bruised arm.

"I wanted to make sure I wasn't dreaming," he answered as he sat back in his seat.

"I'm pretty sure you're supposed to do that to yourself."

He grinned cheekily. "I like that way more."

She rolled her bright blue eyes. "Anyway, I suppose I can try to explain the time travel bit."

"Please do."

"Well, time is a constant moving phenomenon. It continuously moves forward but certain people have the ability to move forward and back along the line."

"Such as yourself?"

"And now you."

"But if it's a constant thing and people can move along it, then that means—"

"That in a way, I've always been with you."

Frowning, he tried to understand what she was saying but all that was happening was the beginning of a migraine. "I'm not sure I follow."

She rummaged through a bag he hadn't realized she held and produced a marker. Uncapping it, she drew a curved arrow on the white tablecloth. "Let's say for instance this is the line of time." She then drew a nearly mirror image of the first arrow, creating a discontinuous circle. "Time is never ending. It moves in one big circle, right? So as of now, we are here." She positioned an "x" in the center of the arrow closer to her. Tracing the circle, she continued, "If this were your life the first time around, you would have gone on to here." She stopped at the center of the arrow closest to him and drew another "x". "You died here, though, before you could continue the cycle. Your being was carried to the sky where I was specifically told to meet you. But instead of moving to the Afterlife, you were brought back here." A line connecting the two figures trailed from her pen. "That implies that while you were living there, time remained in existence here, and while you were here the first time, time continued there as well."

"So…" he began, trying to grasp the concept. "The two worlds run parallel?"

"Exactly."

"So then…I could be dying in twenty years right now?"

"It's possible."

"And then I'd go back to my youth and meet you again and the cycle would continue." She nodded. "But then _this_ time, the end of it, it would've happened already in the other parallel. Then I could be living to the ripe old age of 104 somewhere. Why can't I remember any of this? If it's already happened, several times probably, shouldn't I know?"

"That's not how it works."

"Why not?"

"I'm not the right person to ask."

They sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes, simply staring at one another. Finally, John leaned back in his seat and laced his fingers behind his head.

"You know if this works, don't you?"

She smiled. "Of course."

"But you can't tell me."

"Nope."

"Why not?" He demanded as he tilted forward. "Why do you get to know but not me?"

"Because it is for me to know and you to find out," she answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. He pressed on regardless.

"But isn't this dangerous? I thought tampering with time was bad business. Won't your being here ruin whatever future I potentially have?"

Lucy sighed and impatiently pushed a stubborn lock of hair behind her ear. "Essentially, yes. Your future will remain in tact, though the point of this is to change a few things such as making sure you remember yourself, your friends, and, of course, live past forty."

He fixed her with an intense gaze. "But things _will_ be different then the first time, right? Major differences?"

She grinned mischievously. "Ah, there in lies my job, Lennon. My purpose is to tastefully screw up things that could have possibly been."

John grimaced. "I'm not so sure about this anymore."


	3. Nightmares and Late Night Adventures

Chapter 3: Nightmares and Late Night Adventures

Five gunshots. Five bullets leaving the cold metal weapon lodged sharply in a madman's hands. Four hitting him straight on, three piercing him all the way through. Two wounds more fatal than the others. Screams reverberating through the night air, consuming him as he staggered up those few steps that, at the time, seemed to stretch on forever. The sound of an armful of cassettes he placed so much time and effort on scattering against the pavement hit his ears as the world went black.

John jerked awake, gasping for breath. A startled scream left his lips as he pulled himself into a sitting position. The sweat drenched sheets that had once protected him from the cold were now horrible restraints that he hastily peeled off of his shaking body. That dream seemed far too real for his liking. But it had been real once, had it not? He ran a hand along his chest to verify that there were no bleeding wounds and that it was, indeed, just a nightmare.

"John, what's wrong?" Mimi demanded frantically, flicking the lights on in his room.

"I-I had a bad dream," he replied weakly.

Mimi ran a hand through his sweaty hair trying to soothe him. He leaned into her touch. "You haven't had a nightmare since your uncle and I convinced you there were no monsters in your closet back when you were younger. What was it?"

He shook his head and stood. "It was nothing."

"It obviously wasn't 'nothing' or you wouldn't have screamed, waking the entire house up."

"I need to go for a walk," he suddenly declared in an exasperated voice.

She stopped him from leaving the room. "You can't go out at this time of night! Why don't you just tell me what it was, hmm?"

"Mimi, please."

The desperation in his voice almost killed her but she remained adamant. "Tell me."

He hesitated, fingering a loose thread on his shirt. Finally, he said in a low murmur, "You wouldn't understand."

She crossed her arms and raised her nose at that. She wouldn't understand? What could there possibly be to understand? It was just a nightmare. But as her eyes studied her nephew in the dimly lit room, she had come to the conclusion that whatever it was had certainly spooked him dearly. He was covered in perspiration as well as trembling ever so slightly. She also noticed he would not keep his eyes closed for too long, probably in fear of seeing whatever was most likely etched onto his eyelids.

"Don't be long," she said at last.

He nodded his thanks, slipped on a pair of shoes and jacket, and left.

He wasn't sure where he was going, all he knew was he needed out. If he went back to sleep, he'd just see himself being murdered again. That wasn't a very appealing image, which is why he decided to step outside. The fresh air would hopefully clear his head.

As he meandered about the darkened streets of Liverpool, he considered the situation he was in. In twenty years, he had died. That certainly was a strange thing to think about. He would lose his life, his family, his friends, and his career. Everything would be gone if he didn't find a way to prevent it. But how was he to do that? There was so much time between then and now. Lucy told him there were other parts of his life he must change. Together, would those aid him in survival?

He slowed his pace, suddenly wondering what exactly needed to be fixed this time around. For a moment he thought he could save his mother, Julia. But the timing was off. It was over a year since she died. His heart clenched uncomfortably. Why couldn't he have had another chance to see her?

_Because it was meant to be_, a voice in his mind told him. _Her passing was written in the stars_.

He scoffed at that. It was unfair and he knew whoever came up with that was aware of it. Julia may not have been the greatest mother to him but she did not deserve to die, writing in the stars be damned. Then another wonderful idea hit him. If he could not thwart the death of his mother, perhaps he could help Stu!

A memory of the horrible day he found out his friend died came to mind. He remembered the pained look Astrid tried so hard to hide and the way grief took a hold of him, choking him off from any happiness. No one knew for sure why he died the way he did, by a brain hemorrhage. There are theories, of course, theories of which he should look in to as to find a probable cause for Stu's problem. There was no way he was going to let his friend die, especially if there was something he could do to stop it.

As he looked to the sky, he was almost certain the twinkling stars overhead were smiling down at him.

So now that he was obstinate in his plot to save Stu, what else was there for him to do? He supposed that was obvious. Keeping on good terms with his friends was a given. The John of the future would also insist on him becoming a better man. Seeing as how he was forty year old John in his nineteen year old body, the task shouldn't be too hard. He knew he would have to be much kinder to Cynthia, as well as be the father he never was to Julian. His family would be different this time around. But if he changed things with Cynthia, would Yoko ever come into the picture, and therefore Sean? He sighed and kicked at a rock on the ground. He didn't know what he was supposed to do.

He hadn't realized his tired body carried him to the deserted docks. There was a certain energy pulsating in the air that attracted him to that spot. He walked a bit further until he found a bench and collapsed on it. He turned his head to the side and nearly jumped when he discovered he was not alone.

"What're you doing out here?" he asked.

Lucy pushed a lock of hair away from her face but did not answer right away. There was a hard look in her eyes, something resembling misery lingering there as she stared out at the water. He had always seen her look so cheerful; he didn't like this new appearance.

"The same reason you're here," she finally said. "I couldn't sleep."

"How'd you know I couldn't sleep?"

"Why else would you be out here at the docks at three in the morning?"

He nodded, seeing the truth in her answer. They sat in companionable silence for what seemed like hours, simply listening to the water lap against the shoreline. After a while, he murmured,

"I saw me dying. It scared me pretty bad."

She watched him with sad eyes. "For a while, you'll be plagued with the memory of it. It's not a nice thing and I do apologize, even though it's not my fault. Had your passing been a bit…friendlier, it wouldn't be as bad."

"Do you dream about your death?" he questioned, ignoring the news that he would probably see his murder many more times. "You did die, right? To be where you are I assume it had to happen…"

"I haven't done this in a while," she said in a subdued voice.

"What?" That wasn't what he expected to hear.

"Living," she explained. "I haven't done it in a while. I've been up there for as long as I can remember. So to be able to dream again, it's…it's all I can see. My death, I mean." Her voice faltered towards the end and he reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "Now's not the time. Maybe one day."

He didn't question her further, seeing it best not to provoke her. Silence reigned once more as they sat there, hand in hand. Suddenly, she turned to him, sitting cross-legged on the bench. She held both of his hands in front of her and surveyed him in the glimmering darkness.

"Close your eyes," she instructed.

He watched her warily. "Why?"

"Just do it!"

He reluctantly obliged. After a minute of nothing happening, he poked open an eye and found her sitting in a trance-like state.

"I thought I told you to close your eyes, hmm?" she said, startling him.

"Yes ma'am."

An out of place breezed ruffled his hair, swirling about his person. Warmth spread through his body and suddenly, he wasn't afraid anymore. Quite the opposite, actually. He slowly opened his eyes and gasped in shock at his surroundings. He was back in his In-Between, the place of his dreams.

"Why are we here?" he asked frantically. "I'm not dead, am I?"

"No," she answered simply as she stood from the strange colored grass. She strolled across to the bridge and stood on it, looking down at him. "Aren't you coming?"

He quickly ambled over to her and stared at the orange liquid below them. "Why are we here?"

"This place comforts you. I thought it would be nice to take you back. You're not dead. It's more of a dream than anything, really."

"So I'm sleeping?"

"Sort of. We're still on the bench by the docks."

"Weird."

"I like it."

John leaned against the side of the bridge, his thoughts catching up to him, sans the fear. It was all a sort of calm pondering that revolved around this bizarre second life he was given. He glanced at himself in the water, trying to take in the leather jacket acting as a barrier against the chill in the air and the slightly messy yet coiffed hair with the tip curled just so. He chuckled at his appearance, the sound piercing the quiet atmosphere. Lucy watched him from the corner of her eye but said nothing.

He desperately wanted to know what he was supposed to do with himself now. What was he supposed to change, apart from saving Stu? If he did a certain thing, a chain reaction would occur, possibly changing everything he once knew. But was that not the purpose of this? Things must change in order to spare his life down the road. The fear began to manifest in tiny seeds of doubt. What if he couldn't save himself? What if he didn't do the right thing? What if he never had Julian? What if he never became a successful artist? What if he never met Yoko and had Sean?

"John?" Lucy called tentatively.

He turned towards her, seeing nothing but concern etched onto her face. "Yes?"

"Are you okay?"

He considered lying, saying he was fine. But she would know. He wasn't sure how but she would know he wasn't being honest. "Lucy, I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"What if I don't do the right thing? What if all of this goes in vain and I _do_ die? What if the Beatles never come into play? What if Stu dies as well? What if my children never exist? What if I never marry Yoko? What if—"

He stopped midsentence as she placed a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"John, listen to me. Are you listening?" She waited until he nodded shakily. "You will make the right choices. Anything you decide will lead you down a path you will be fine with. I will not lie to you and say everything will happen as it did before because things _will_ change. I can't guarantee any of the things you mentioned will be a sure thing but you'll be fine. I know because I've seen it all before." She smiled and he grinned back.

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely positive."

"Can I ask you a question, though?"

She seemed wary but she could not say no. She nodded.

"If…Let's say I make sure my relationship with Cynthia goes better than before. Or I decide to end it because I know it won't end well. Would I ever have Julian or would I ever meet Yoko?"

Lucy hesitated, gnawing her lip. "I…I can't tell you that, John. You know I can't. You have to trust yourself to make the right decision and be okay with whatever consequence it has. I can tell you one thing, though."

"What's that?" he asked curiously.

"When the time comes and you pass a certain point in your life this time, you won't remember the way it happened before."

"I won't?"

She shook her head. "The Man of the Sky feels if you remember it, you may go on living a miserable existence because you'll be plagued by thoughts of what had happened had you done it a different way or the same way it was before."

"I suppose that makes sense," he admitted slowly. "So if I go on living with Cynthia, I won't remember Yoko?"

"It's a possibility."

He visibly blanched. "That sounds horrible."

"Which is why you won't remember it."

"Can I consult you with my decisions? Get a little feedback on if they're good enough?"

"If you feel the need to. Chances I'll be able to tell you, though, are pretty slim."

"I figured as much."

John crossed the bridge and seated himself on the grass under a shady tree. He patted the spot beside him, indicating Lucy should sit. She crossed her legs underneath her and spread the skirt of her dress around her. The pair sat that way for what seemed like hours, discussing trivial things such as the weather or why the colors in this magical world were so bizarre or even what you would get if you crossed a penguin and a poodle. John confessed his desire of wanting a guitar and to his surprise, one manifested leaning against the tree. He strummed away at it, making up a ridiculous song on the spot about the majestic rocking horse people galloping like mad on the other side of the river which caused Lucy to laugh.

He smiled to himself, suddenly feeling light and airy. He imagined himself flying through the sky painted in swirls of pink and orange and yellow. He was as free as a bird. Lucy leaned back, watching him contentedly. She knew their fun must end shortly, however. John's eyes fluttered closed in a moment of pure bliss. When he opened them, he was lying in his bed again with his aunt watching him worriedly.


	4. Officially Weirded Out

Chapter 4: Officially Weirded Out

Stu Sutcliffe was absolutely certain that something was not right with his best mate.

The two had been friends for quite a while now, being as they were schoolmates. Stu always admired John's brazen personality; Lennon always came off as if there was not a thing in the world that would frighten him. Stu nonchalantly took a leaf from his book, trying to act the same. He already had that cool aura about him but he figured he could go for the bold look.

John also had the twisted sense of humor Stu developed himself, though it was more pronounced when in John's presence. They would laugh at the most ridiculous things and no one else would understand why it was funny. That was why they took to spending much time with one another. They understood each other and all of the quirks they had. Stu sometimes looked at his friend as the brother he never had. John Lennon and Stu Sutcliffe were an unconventional pair but best friends nonetheless.

Now, however, Stu watched with increasing concern as John acted like…well, _not John_.

It started that day in December, when Stu and the lads decided to visit John at Mimi's. First, there's the fact that he thought he was dead. Obviously he wasn't if he was able to question whether or not he _was_ in fact a departed soul. He must have had some killer nightmare if he believed he was going to wake up dead (Stu mentally chuckled at the horrible contradiction).

Then there was the way John somehow knew what Stu was going to say. He played it off as some sort of coincidental twin telepathy thing (Stu snorted) but there had to be something more to it. The way he froze up with that dumb look on his face was proof enough. Even more, there was also when Paul confessed to using the old McCartney charm to win over the girl down the block from him.

"Oh right, yeah," John muttered indifferently.

Stu thought nothing of it until Paul gave their friend a strange look. "Don't you care?"

"Should I?"

"You only told me about a million times that I should stop blabbering and shag her!"

"So?"

"I expected some sort of praise from you or somethin'," Paul said with eyes narrowed and arms crossed. "You act like you somehow magically knew or you don't care at all."

John rolled his eyes and then smiled. "I knew you had it in ya Paulie!" He clapped the younger man on the back before raising his nearly empty glass. "I propose a toast to Mr. McCartney here, the sleaziest lad in Liverpool!"

"The sleaziest!" The others chorused back, clinking their glasses together. After the impromptu toast, they resumed laughing and joking around about random things. Paul smiled proudly at his accomplishment and recognition while Stu stared skeptically at John. There was something that did not sit right with him.

Then there was the time the two were returning home after a long night of heavy drinking. The tipsy duo roamed the streets of a sleeping Liverpool while belting the words of a Little Richard song at top volume. John fumbled over the lyrics and Stu, while making fun of him, suddenly slipped in an icy puddle, landing roughly against the ground. For a moment he was sure he saw John crack a smile through the haze of pain he felt but he instantly sobered, crouching beside him.

"Are you alright?" John asked, helping him into a sitting position.

"I guess, yeah," Stu answered, rubbing the back of his throbbing head with a wince. "Me head hurts like hell, though."

"We should probably get some ice for that."

Stu nodded, grimacing as the pain reared itself once more. This was sure putting a damper on his giddy intoxication. "I'll be fine. You know, I half expected you to take the mickey."

John stood, offering his hand to help his friend up. "Nah, that looked like a pretty nasty fall. I can if you want me to," he offered with a grin.

"No thanks. Let's just leave."

Another thing Stu noticed that was odd, though not at all unsettling (well, maybe it is unsettling because it was _John_) was the suddenly uplifted mood. John seemed to be all smiles, laughing at the littlest jokes that weren't even funny or ruffling George's hair as the younger boy scowled vehemently. He seemed generally happy about every thing when before, he was a slightly moody sort. He was even cheerful about the tattered leather jacket he had previously told Stu he despised and planned to be rid of. That was a confusing turn of events. But what threw Stu off completely was the way he carried himself with this newfound emotion. Honestly, what bloke went _skipping_ anywhere? While humming show tunes at that! He wasn't even aware that John knew show tunes.

Most intriguing indeed.

Now, a few months later, the pair was living together in a tiny apartment where Stu was able to see all of John's strangeness up close day in and day out. But he was too distracted with their new freedom to pay much attention. Living on their own was an extremely liberating experience. Every night was one big party—they could now get completely pissed without having to explain to their elders and do whatever (or whomever) they pleased, sans the annoying task of answering to whoever was in charge. They filled that position now.

Who knew what trouble they would get themselves into?

The band, plus Lucy and whatever girlfriends the guys had that week, had taken to meeting up at the diner every Saturday night. It was a place for them all to escape life for a few hours, a place where nothing mattered other than them all being together. Stu wouldn't admit it to anyone but he genuinely liked the time spent with them all there—it was actually…nice. The group was a family of sorts to him. They accepted him with open arms (maybe except for Paul) without judging his character because they were all like him. He liked the bizarre conversations they had and how everyone made him laugh. It was impossible to be down in their presence. But he would never tell anyone that. Especially not John. Well, maybe the "new" John, as he had taken to calling him, wouldn't call him a queer for that comment anymore. He wasn't willing to find out, though.

He had been sitting in a booth one night, his arm around a pretty girl he didn't really care for, talking to Paul and George about something unimportant. They could have been discussing flying monkeys for all he knew; he was barely paying attention. At that moment John walked in looking worse for wear.

"John!" the boys shouted obnoxiously as he sat down.

"Hello lads, girl I do not know," John greeted with a nod in their direction.

"Hey John," Stu piped up, leaning forward. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot."

That simple word uttered from his own lips had John in a sudden tizzy. He had fallen asleep before he was to meet his friends and of course, he was thrown right back into that horrible nightmare. This time, however, he saw it from the point of view of an outsider. Somehow, it was even more terrifying that way. He watched as his murderer came closer, pulling the gun out and aiming it directly at him. He saw as the first bullet missed him completely, wedging itself into the wall behind him. But the next rounds hit their target. He stood rooted to the spot, horrified, as he saw himself stagger forward before collapsing. He wrenched his eyes away from the pitiful sight and found Yoko, screaming miserably at the sight of her husband. What sent his blood boiling was the calm manner Mark Chapman held, as if he did not care at all that he had just ruined someone's life. He simply removed his coat and hat and sat on the sidewalk, waiting. The amount of disgust John felt at that moment was unbearable.

"Do you know what you've done?" the doorman demanded after ripping the gun away from the deranged man.

"Yes, I just shot John Lennon," he replied coolly. For one crazy second, John thought Chapman looked directly at him, the current John rather than the slowly dying John.

That was when he woke up screaming.

"…and the mongoose flew up the giant's nose before the giant sneezed it out in a storm of colorful snot," Stu was saying. John jerked his head up, staring confusedly at his mate.

"What?"

"I knew you weren't listening," Stu sighed. "What's up with you, man? You've been zoning out all week."

"I've just…I've got a lot on me mind," he replied, hanging his head. "I'm sorry. What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"Never mind." Stu turned and engaged in conversation with the girl beside him. John frowned, feeling slightly put out. He couldn't help it that these dreams were consuming his every thought.

The door chimed open, causing John to look for the new arrival. A broad grin spread across his face as he realized who it was: standing uncertainly in the doorway searching for someone was Cynthia Powell. Though he had only seen her last week, he had missed her like crazy. He nearly forgot how beautiful she was with her long blond hair pulled into a bun and bright rosy cheeks that would redden even more as soon as John complimented her. He found her easy embarrassment quite endearing.

"Cynthia!" he called, waving her over. Her eyes lit up as she found him. She walked over to their table, a smile on her face.

"Hello John, boys," she waved timidly to the others.

"Hullo Cyn!"

"Here, let me get that for ya," John said, pulling up a chair for her. As she seated herself with the aid of John, Stu, who had been taking a rather large gulp of his carbonated beverage, suddenly spit the liquid out in shock. Unfortunately, George was in his line of fire.

"Ugh, Stu, this is disgusting!" George exclaimed, dabbing at his face with a napkin.

"What the hell just happened?" Stu spluttered with eyes wide. "Did John just do something, dare I say, _polite_?"

"Yes?" Cynthia answered, staring at him in puzzlement.

"I am officially weirded out," Stu announced, slamming his cup down and standing. "You!" he shouted, pointing to someone behind John.

"Me?" Lucy, who had just entered, looked at Stu as if he were crazy.

"Can I have a word?"

"Um, I suppose. What's this about?" She never got her answer as he grabbed her arm and carted her back out of the building. She glanced at the others, silently begging for help, but they merely shrugged.

"What is your problem, Sutcliffe?" she demanded once they were outside.

"There's something wrong with John," he told her franticly.

"What? Is he alright?"

"No-I mean yes-I mean I don't know what I mean!"

"You've lost me."

He sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "He's been acting funny lately. He's all…different. He's been all happy and giddy and spaced out and psychic about certain things and not caring about Paul screwing some bird and—"

"I don't see why this is a bad thing," she told him bluntly.

He pulled her in front of a window facing their friends and jabbed a finger at the laughing John. "You see that in there? That is not John! The John I know would've made a fuss about someone's latest conquest or laughed his ass off at me falling down drunk and he sure as hell wouldn't go skipping around the town or pull a chair out for no girl!"

"Maybe he's in love," Lucy answered with a shrug.

Stu snorted. "Love or not, he would not do these things."

"Have you talked to him? And I've failed to see why you're taking this up with me."

"Because it started the day we ran into you!" he exclaimed as if it were an obvious thing.

Lucy glared at him. "Are you saying this is my fault?"

"Yes."

"But you also said he did weird things before you saw me. So it's clearly not me."

He leaned against the wall, dejected. "What am I gonna do? What's wrong with him?" he asked as he lit a cigarette."

She stood beside him and stared out at the murky skies. "He's from the future."

Stu stared at her, waiting for the rest of the joke. She turned to him, eyes absolutely serious. He burst out laughing.

"That's a good one, Lou," he commented, wiping tears of mirth from his eye.

She shrugged. "Fine, don't believe me. Can we go back inside now? I'm cold."

He nodded before putting out the cigarette with the toe of his boot and taking Lucy's arm, leading her inside.

"What was that all about?" Paul asked, picking through a plate of French fries before him.

"Stu just losing his mind," Lucy answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. She plopped into a chair and stole the plate from an objecting Paul.

"He never had it to begin with, did he?" John said with a smirk. "I was convinced he was mental ages ago. Hey Stu, I thought I was gonna have to replace you what with you choking and all that. You would've missed your big break but we would be better off," he added with a wink.

Stu ignored the jibe and grinned, finally feeling like his friend was back.

He missed the significant look John and Lucy shared.


	5. Welcome to Hamburg

Chapter 5: Welcome to Hamburg

John stared unseeingly out at the sea, the water churning with a great agony. The wind was rough today, whipping his hair erratically about his smug face. He could feel the pain of his homeland in the atmosphere, crying out to him with eerie waters and strange temperatures. England did not want him to leave, nor did it fancy the thought of the other band members going as well.

"Don't worry, dear friend," he whispered to the listening ears of the prestigious country. "We'll be back soon."

That, however, was depending on one's definition of the term "soon". Was it a few days? A few weeks? Or even a few months? John's view on the word was highly distorted. He had been promised so many different soons; he did not know which to believe. As of now, it meant several months, possibly longer. From someone like Mimi or even Lucy, soon could mean as little as an hour. His friends saw it as days. But there was a memory there, lingering on the edge of his subconscious. It fluttered in the depths of his mind like a silk curtain lightly kissed by a cherished summer breeze.

"I'll return soon," someone whispered in a past that did not seem to belong. And yet, it had been years; where was this person?

John would keep his promise of soon. He could not afford to let anyone down, not this time around. Still, there was plenty of time to worry about that later. An eager thrill seeped into his veins, spreading a warm smile across his face.

He and the band were given the opportunity of a lifetime (even in his second life it still excited him!): they were going off to play their music in Hamburg. Alan Williams, their booking agent as of May that year, wanted to send a group off to Germany in the hopes that they would attract the success his leading group Derry and the Seniors had. Though Williams was impressed enough with the newly named Beatles to promote concerts of theirs, he was not impressed with them as a musical group. He had originally wanted to send Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. They declined the offer, as did Gerry & the Pacemakers.

John did not care that his group was practically a last resort; all that mattered was that somehow, they had such immense luck as to gain access to a world of opportunities. The exposure the Beatles would get off in Hamburg, an exotic land to the five boys, would be monumental. By this time next year, they could be famous, playing sold out concerts all over the world. People everywhere would be listening to his voice over their radios. It certainly would be a step up from playing backup music for "Janice the Stripper".

And the girls, lord _the girls_ that would be throwing themselves at the lads. Christ, it would be like heaven. For these next few months spent playing music at the Indra Club, they would have their pick of a variety of German birds.

Hot damn.

"John!"

He spun around, hands wedged deep in his pockets to fight the chilled coastal air. Stu was sauntering across the docks towards him, smiling like mad.

"We're going to Germany!"

John whooped victoriously and clapped his friend on the back. "Cor, this is going to be fantastic!"

Stu whistled slowly. "This is it, then? We're going off to bigger and better things. _For months_. We probably won't be the same people when we're back in this old dump. Christ, this is mad!"

John nodded. "We'll actually be someone then. More than we are now, anyway."

"It'll all be worth it in the end, yeah?"

"Yeah. Ready to go woo some German girls?"

"I was born ready."

They walked to the waiting ferry, perfectly at ease in the companionable silence filled to the brim with anticipation. This was the beginning of something so wonderful and glorious. Granted, John had to be quite the smooth talker to even be able to consider this opportunity. As his legal guardian, Mimi was content with telling him _no_, he could _not_ go. He countered with the fact that he was nineteen and could make his own decisions (but, ironically, he asked her anyway). She trusted him, honestly she did. But not enough to willingly send him off to a country full of scandalous clubs and loose women. That was a disaster waiting to happen. She feared for Germany if it were to ever meet the likes of John Winston Lennon. When she heard how much he would be making playing his raucous music over there, though, she began reconsidering her rash decision to decline the visit. Her nephew would be getting enough money to allow a comfortable living for the two of them (he of course told her he would share) for quite some time. So she told him _yes_, he _could_ go, that is if he promise to write her everyday.

John never loved the woman more.

So here he was, standing on the dock staring out at the large ferry that would take them away shortly. He absentmindedly patted his pant pockets to make sure the stack of envelopes and sheet of postage stamps he "borrowed" were still there. He was rather glad Mimi admitted her trust in him. It truly meant a lot and he vowed he would not let her down.

That didn't mean he couldn't have a bit of fun.

Paul was leaning against the dock railing, a cigarette hanging carelessly from his smiling lips and a look of indifference on his face. In all actuality, he was anything _but_ indifferent. The current situation was far to exciting for him to be so blasé. Christ, he was going to Germany for the rest of the year! A big change was in the works for them all. Now he was leaving England as a naïve boy; he would return from Germany a _man_. It delighted him to no end.

George, on the other hand, was feeling slightly queasy. Sure, going off to Germany to play music was a terribly great adventure. It was a bright shiny dream that, not so long ago, seemed a blinding star soaring through the galaxy just out of his reach. But there it was, balancing on the tip of his hand with a taunting grin reminding him he had a lot to be worried about. He was underage and that could spell disaster. Well, disaster or deportation. Those words were pretty synonymous to him. If anyone found out that he was working without being eighteen, they could easily send him off. That would be a definite buzz kill. That's why he would have to act nonchalant like Paul and the others so the Germans would believe him when that rough lie passed his unsure lips. So he played cool.

"You alright there, George?" Stu asked as he approached.

"Geesh, relax, will ya'?" John demanded, balancing a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. "You look constipated. The Germans will definitely believe you when you say you're eighteen," he added with a roll of his eyes.

"Piss off," George grumbled, straightening his features.

"Where's Pete?" Paul asked suddenly. It dawned on him that their new drummer, Pete Best, was missing. He was enlisted a few days prior in the desperate search to find someone suitable to join the band. Paul felt a sense of smug pride when the others took in Best because he had been the one to suggest him.

"Bugger," John swore. "The boat leaves in half an hour. He better get his sorry—"

"I'm here, I'm here," Pete called impatiently as he rushed forward with suitcase in hand. "The party can start now."

Stu snickered. "This lad'll make for an interesting time, eh?"

"Maybe we should give him a warm Beatles welcome," George suggested with a malevolent glint in his eye. He and Stu shared a glance and as if communicating telepathically, they advanced on a wary Pete who was then shoved into the harbor.

"You fucking wankers," Pete shouted as he surfaced. He spat out a mouthful of cold water as the others laughed.

John didn't have time for a witty remark as his attention was diverted by a vivacious blond. Cynthia Powell caught his eye and smiled, positively blowing his mind. He grinned back, feeling his heart surge at the sight of her. For a moment he was sidetracked. Had this happened in his first life? Had he felt so strongly about Cynthia before? He could not remember feeling so…in love. Perhaps that was because he did not know _true_ love until Yoko.

His stomach plummeted.

"Hello John," Cynthia greeted in a voice that was oddly sultry. Behind him, Stu raised an eyebrow mid-chuckle.

"Hey Cyn," John responded with an easy smile. He reached for her small hands, suddenly wondering what it would be like if she were to play guitar. He laced their fingers together, pulling her in for a tender kiss that she eagerly deepened.

Paul casually coughed. George snickered. Stu called, "Get a room!"

John pulled away and shot them the bird before resting his forehead against Cynthia's. "I'm going to miss you," he said softly.

Cynthia, surprised by the intensity in his gaze, said breathlessly, "I'll miss you, too."

"Not that this isn't touching and all," George began.

"But it's kind of making me sick," Paul finished, wrinkling his nose.

"What are you, twins?" John shot back. "That's only because you don't have your own girl," he teased, draping an arm around Cynthia's shoulders.

"Actually, she's right there," Paul countered haughtily as he pointed a finger behind John.

"Well look at that, she is."

Dot skipped over and attacked Paul with a hug. Rolling bright blue eyes at the obnoxious girl was Lucy who approached the group more calmly than her acquaintance.

John smiled and released his girlfriend who turned to the others. Lucy was staring at the boat in wonder. As her eyes trailed to the gray waters, though, she frowned. John pulled her in for a hug and buried his face in her sweet smelling wheat colored hair.

"What's wrong?" he whispered, his voice coming out muffled.

"I'm going to miss you all," she stated simply, escaping the circle of his arms.

"Of course you are," John smirked. "What're you going to do while we're gone?"

"My life does not revolve around you, you know," she said with another roll of those eyes. But that was a lie and he knew it. As conceited as it sounded, he _was_, after all, the reason she was here.

"Don't miss us too much, Lou."

"I could never." She turned and glanced around, John's arm wrapped firmly around her shoulder. Her gaze flickered to Cynthia who was laughing loudly at something Stu said. "Something's not right," she said in a voice almost too low for anyone else to hear.

"What was that?" he questioned.

"Nothing."

He found what she had been looking at and smiled in understanding. "Are you jealous?"

"Of what?" she demanded incredulously.

"Cynthia."

Narrowing her eyes, she asked, "And why would I be?"

"Because you wish you were talking to Stu right now instead of her."

Lucy tossed her long hair over her shoulder and laughed. "That is the most absurd thing I've ever—" She stopped midsentence, turning to analyze the situation once more. Suddenly, something clicked. "Oh, dear."

John's brow furrowed in confusion. "What is it?"

She shook her head fervently. It was not her place to tell. "Nothing. I'm going to say goodbye to the others, okay?" She skipped off and pulled George away from his worrying.

There was something she was not telling him.

"So this is goodbye?"

He turned and found himself staring into the endless depths of Cynthia's eyes. "No," he disagreed, wrapping his arms around her. "It's more of a…'see you later'." He gently kissed the top of her head and said, "I love you."

"I know," she sighed,

"Come on, John!" Alan Williams called. He was hanging out of his van, which was sitting desolately on the ferry. "We've gotta go!"

"See you later, John," Cynthia said in a strained whisper.

"See ya, Cyn." Throwing his rucksack over his shoulder, he began running to the boat, shouting farewells to the others that had come out to see them off.

"We're going to Germany!" Paul whooped.

"Yeah!"

John smiled out at the sea, water rippling under the force of the propellers. This would be an adventure he would never forget.

/.\

Stu was absolutely miserable.

Not only that, he was cold. Freezing, actually. Stu was cold and miserable and oh so regretful. Why had he agreed to this?

And by "this" he meant going to Germany. Sure, in theory it sounded good. Spending months in a foreign land with booze and girls galore sounded heavenly. But so far, he had yet to experience anything amazing. As of now, all he had seen was the inside of Alan's van. He was crammed in a dysfunctional car with broken windows and nine other people: the band, Alan, his wife Beryl, her brother Barry, Lord Woodbine, and Georg Sterner who served as translator for Bruno Koschmider, the Indra's owner. He'd never felt so violated. Currently he was sprawled across the back seat with his face crammed against the cheap polyester with the "mean, magnificent, and moody" Pete Best lying directly on top of him

And his foot was stuck. _Fucking Christ._

It was caught in a strap of a stray bag stuffed roughly under the seat. He yanked as hard as he could (which wasn't very much under the given circumstances) but it would not budge. He tried to slide his leg out but was stopped by a snoring Pete.

"Can someone help me?" he finally asked after ten minutes of (more) discomfort.

"What is it?" John mumbled sleepily from somewhere in the heap of freezing boys desperate to find warmth.

"Me bleedin' foot is caught," he explained, obviously irritated.

He was met with silence.

Swearing under his breath he forcibly jiggled his leg to free himself. There was a bit too much force, however, as he was yanked from the seat and collapsed to the floor on top of George. Pete and Paul toppled down as well, slamming in to Stu.

"This is fucking ridiculous," Stu snapped, sitting up. The others protested the sudden action.

"Relax, man," John yawned.

"I will not relax, this is—" The van hit a bump, causing Stu to fall over the pile again.

"It was your turn on top, anyway."

"At least your foot's unstuck," George pointed out.

Indeed, it was.

Still, Stu was not happy. "I want out of this fucking van. This whole thing is stupid and queer and—"

"Aye, shut it!" Alan shouted from the driver's seat. "We're here!"

The boys immediately sat up and pressed their faces against what was left of the frigid windows. The vehicle slowed as it drove down a road that led to the St. Pauli area lined with neon lights flashing dully in the early morning glow. Advertisements for music, shows, beer, and sex beat a pulse into their wide eyes. Stu almost cried by how beautiful it was.

"Whoa," Paul murmured, his breath eating away at the icy mist formed on the windows for a moment.

"Looks like we've made it, lads," John spoke over the mesmerized silence.

The van stopped before an ominous looking building. One by one the boys filed out, standing uncertainly on the frosty ground.

"What are you waiting for?" Alan asked. "Go on!"

John took a deep breath, rolled back his shoulders, and marched forward. He cast a look over his shoulder and found that no one was following. George shook his head when he urged them to follow. With a roll of his eyes, he approached the heavy door and pushed.

It was locked.

"Well, that's that," he announced as he walked back to the van, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Not so fast," Harold Phillips, or Lord Woodbine as he was known to all, said. He was a man born in Trinidad that ran the New Cabaret Artistes (a place that seemed more suitable for this area of Hamburg than Liverpool) with Alan. He gestured towards where Alan and Georg were discussing something with a manager from a neighboring club. The latter glanced at the group assembled and went off, hopefully to find someone to open the door for them. Luckily, that was _exactly_ what he did.

John nodded appreciatively.

The club door was opened for the group and they hesitantly stepped inside. A decrepit stage and a bar loaded with a variety of alcohol assaulted their vision. John listened vaguely to the mix of German and English being spoken behind him. All that really appealed to him at the moment were the red leather seats that looked so much more comfortable than the benches in Alan's van. He slowly walked over and collapsed onto one, falling asleep instantly.

/.\

"_One, two, three, four!_"

Music filled the air, lighting the world in a magnificent glow of tangled guitar chords, fierce drum beats, and eager vocals. John felt perfectly at home up there on that makeshift stage, swaying his hips to the rhythm as he belted out the lyrics to "Be Bop a Lula".

"_Well, be-bop-a-lula, she's my baby. Be-bop-a-lula, I don't mean maybe_."

The Indra club was filled with thick cigarette smoke and drunken Germans getting their nightly fix. A select few were dancing to the music but John didn't really mind; he was getting paid either way. That is, as long as Bruno didn't fire the band. A pretty blond sat at a table nearby, chin in hand, avidly watching John. He winked at her and she giggled. He made a mental note to linger in the bar after this set to chat her up.

The minutes ticked by and the pool of songs to select from seemed to be growing shallow. Pete was banging lifelessly on the drums. Paul was staring unseeingly out at the sea of faces, trying to find the hidden sober person. George was nodding off in between song changes. Stu was fumbling even more with his chord changes. John's throat was nearly raw. Suddenly, Bruno marched up to the stage and shouted,

"Mach schau, mach schau!"

John didn't know what to do so he turned to Pete, the only one that had studied German in school. When he began playing more vigorously, the others followed his lead and tried to perform as best as they could. Eventually, they were permitted to end the set. They slumped down the stairs into the backroom and almost fell over on the chairs conveniently located there.

"I take it you all are ready for sleep?" Alan asked as he made his way over to them.

"No, I think we could run a marathon right now, don't you think?" Stu retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Where are we sleeping?" Paul asked through a yawn.

"I spoke with Bruno, the owner here, and he said you all will sleep in the Bambi Kino," Alan answered.

John scrunched his nose. "The cinema?"

"That's the one."

"How will that work?" George wondered.

He was probably sorry he asked.

The group trooped over to the cinema, bags in hand, and followed the route the attendant directed them towards. They found themselves in an old storeroom directly behind the movie screen. The room was bare and completely uninteresting. There were two sets of bunk beds and that was about it. With four beds and five boys, problems were bound to occur. As if an unspoken cue hit them, they all glanced at one another and instantly ran for a bed. John hopped on the top bunk of one with Stu on the bottom. Paul and Pete claimed the other, with George scrambling after them. He stood in the middle of the room and shot a glare at the others.

"This place is horse shit!" he declared.

"Ah, you're just jealous you're not quick enough," John said, leaning back on the stiff mattress.

"He'd never be quick enough," Stu added. "Not even in a fire."

"Ah, screw you." George kicked Stu's bed and collapsed on his suitcase.

Paul sighed and flipped onto his stomach. "You can share with me, Georgie."

George smiled. "Thanks Paul."

"Christ, it's freezing in here," Stu exclaimed through chattering teeth.

Pete jumped down from his bunk and hesitantly opened the door. He reached into the hall for something, returning with a small bundle. "Looks like all we've got are these Union Jacks." He tossed one to each boy and wrapped one around himself.

A sound of trickling water suddenly invaded the room, followed by a foul smell.

John groaned. "I thought that was a loo I saw on the way in."

"I suppose we should try to get some shut eye?" Pete suggested.

"I can only imagine how easy _that'll_ be."

/.\

John's life flashed before his eyes in a flutter of highflying fists and a colorful array of words that would have put Mimi in the grave. Terror gripped his hear, holding him back while he watched what was being played out like some horrible film. He was vaguely aware of a painful throbbing in his hand but he did not mind; all that mattered was Stu was going to die.

Not now, not right away. It would be a slow process that would jump out when he least expected, shouting "Surprise!" while bright balloons of impending doom swirled about the sordid affair. Something hit his conscious heavily, giving him perfect insight into what happened. No one knew before but now, now that he had a clear view of past, present, and future, he knew that this was it: This was what killed his best friend.

It was a normal night—well, normal for their new German standard. The band went out for drinks after an excruciatingly long set. John felt drained, physically and emotionally, from all of the work he had been doing lately. Originally, playing in Hamburg was the best thing that had happened in his short life. Soon, though, the long hours and sleepless days toiled away at his tolerance, bleeding him dry. He desperately needed a breather and those few cigarette breaks just weren't cutting it.

Stu proposed the idea of finding a bar, besides the Indra or the Kaiserkeller, to spend some time at. The others readily agreed. They were seated at a small splintered table sagging heavily under its alcoholic burden. John immediately poured himself a mug of whatever brew it was, licking his lips as the foam bubbled over the plastic container like a wave against the battered shore. The frothy beverage provided a welcome relief from his strenuous job, pulling him into a world of blissful intoxication. The moment the sobriety lapsed into a nonexistent form buried deep within his body, he knew he was free.

Thoughts mingled dangerously with actions that lacked proper planning. He was no longer in control of himself, instead giving complete control over to his fifth beer. Senses were heightened, jokes were funnier, and judgment quickly fled the scene. He banged his mug against the table and guffawed loudly at Paul's blundering joke, earning a few glares from those nearby.

Pete was the first to give up, losing the battle to drink himself silly as he ran for the nearest bathroom to cough back up his liquid diet. George chuckled at his retreating form, the laugh turning into something hysterical before he sobered instantly, running behind Pete. John, Stu, and Paul erupted into fits of contagious laughter, pushing themselves to the world outside of their short-lived haven.

"Who's ready for round two?" John slurred, wobbling unsteadily.

"M-me," Stu hiccuped, raising a clumsy hand in the air.

"I think that's it for me," a bleary-eyed Paul announced.

"Pussy," John giggled.

"Aye, you won't be saying that in the morning when you're making love to the porcelain queen."

Stu's knees buckled as he laughed.

"I guess that leaves me and you, Stu," John announced once Paul wandered off, presumably back to the disgusting little hovel that was their home.

Stu linked arms with John and together, the two skipped off to their next destination. John fell into a bar stool, spinning precariously while squealing obnoxiously. The bartender eyed him warily, debating whether it was wise to serve the boy who was clearly too far gone.

"You gonna serve us or not?" John snapped. The bartender shook his head and slid a mug to the two boys.

"John," Stu began. It came out incomprehensible so he tried again. "John."

"What?"

"I'm in love."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Who with?"

He grabbed the collar of the bartender as he was given his drink and said, "This man. I'nt he beautiful? He's got beer comin' out the ass and its just for us!"

John snorted. "Fucking queer."

"Really, though."

"Really what?"

"Will you let go of me?" the angry German demanded in broken English.

"Oh, right. Sorry."

He released the collar a little too roughly, causing the man to stumble backwards into bottles of liquor. The glass crashed to the floor, spilling a mix of clear and amber liquids on the rotting floor. John was too concerned laughing and singing along with the girl on stage to help his friend who had fallen off his stool in fright.

The bartender stormed off, grumbling under his breath. John and Stu moved to a table in the middle of the bar and clinked their glasses together. After taking a sip, they began belting the words to the cheesy song the performer was still singing. They laughed as they fumbled over the lyrics and she shot them an irritated glare. They were not aware of two men beginning to rise behind them.

"You think that's funny, do you?" One of them, a large fellow with a walrus mustache, grabbed John's shoulder.

"That's my girlfriend up there," the other, a slightly smaller but still intimidating bloke said.

"Well, you sure got lucky, didn't you?" Stu said, snickering.

"Yeah, what's she doing with a pig like you?" John challenged.

"Taxes, probably."

"Silly English," the first said cracking his knuckles threateningly.

"Oh, what a scary fella!" Stu shrieked in mock horror.

"The only thing scary about him is that mustache," John sneered, poking at the offending facial hair. With lightning speed, the man reached for John who ducked almost as quickly. He reached for Stu and the two ran out of the bar, ducking behind innocent bystanders and hopping over tables. The Germans were quick on their heels, cornering them in a deserted alley.

Somehow the Germans multiplied and the increased numbers slowly advanced on the drunken boys. They were saying something, something about the girl on stage and the aggravated bartender but John was not listening. There was something significant about this and it was not the way the man's mustache bristled as he suddenly yanked John by his leather jacket. His face somehow ended in the line of fire of an angry fist; his head lolled back and stars erupted in his vision. The man dropped him to the floor where he proceeded to aim a few kicks. John's eyes found Stu. One of the Germans roughly pushed him backwards. He staggered and his head collided with the wall. He was eerily still.

"Stu!" John shouted. He pulled himself to his feet and aimed blind punches, not feeling enough satisfaction as his fist finally found someone. He raced over to his friend, ignoring the pain in his hand.

Footsteps approached and he froze. Behind him, the Germans began to disappear amongst the shadows, leaving them alone. An elderly man appeared before the alley opening. He tilted his head to the side, surveying the scene.

"Hospital?" he offered.

John nodded stiffly as he hoisted the nonresponsive Stu to his feet. The man shuffled slightly and pointed his cane in the correct direction. John mumbled his thanks and scurried away.

John thought back to the decisions he made a few months ago, the things he was going to change this time around. In his lifetime, no one was ever quite certain what killed Stu as it could have been a number of things. This turn of events, however, gave him a sense of foreboding; he knew this was why his friend never reached old age. He adjusted his grip on Stu and began walking with a newfound purpose.

"John!"

He turned and found George rushing over. When the younger boy noticed Stu, his eyes went wide.

"What—?"

"Is there something you needed George?" John asked, somewhat harshly.

"Oh, uh, Mimi's been calling for you all night," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "She's worried about ya. She's on the line now."

John swore under his breath. He missed sending out one letter to the woman and she nearly had a heart attack. But what was he to do? Go answer to Mimi or save Stu's life? The answer was made for him.

Stu suddenly groaned and shifted. "Where're we going?" he asked sleepily. He yawned but instantly winced as pain filled his aching head. "Ouch."

"We're going to the hospital," John answered. "You need to get checked out."

Stu scoffed and pushed John away, standing himself. "I don't need no stupid hospital. I'm perfectly fine." As he walked, his leg gave out and John and George rushed to keep him up. He angrily told them to quit it, he was fine.

"You don't look fine," George said.

"Very tactful," John sighed. "Look, you're clearly _not_ alright. Just let us take you to get your head fixed up."

"There's not a damn thing wrong with me, Lennon," Stu snapped, storming away unsteadily.

"What happened?" George asked, jogging to keep up.

John jogged after him, cursing his stubborn friend. "Bar fight, he got pushed, smacked his head on the wall, and passed out."

"Geesh, that sounds pretty."

"I know. Christ, he's even bleeding! George, we need to get him help."

He nodded. "Looks like he's going to the Bambi Kino. When we get there, talk to Mimi and I'll get the others to help me take him, yeah?"

"Alright."

John eased open the club's backdoor and followed the sound of Stu's footsteps. George came in after, wincing as Stu unleashed his anger on the other band members. He sighed and went into the dragon's den to explain what needed to happen while John worked his way to the front of the cinema.

"You!" Alan beckoned him over. "You're aunt has been calling all damn night, annoying the hell out of me!"

"I'm here," he said dismissively, seating himself on an old chair. He felt oddly sober now.

Alan shot him a glare as he shoved the telephone receiver in John's hand.

"Mimi?"

"John Winston Lennon, I have half a mind to march over to Hamburg and bring you home," his aunt shouted. "What is the meaning of this? I have not heard hide or tail from you in days, John, _days_. Then I went scouring the telephone lines of that damned country for the number of this place and you don't even answer my calls! You could've been dead in a ditch for all I know!"

He rolled his eyes. "Always the optimist, you are."

"This is no joking matter, young man! You could do to learn some respect."

"Mimi, I greatly respect you, I truly do. I'm sorry I haven't mailed you or answered your calls but something's come up and-"

"I do not care what's 'come up'; all I care for is a little common courtesy and a sign that you're still alive!"

"Mimi—"

"This is why I did not want to let you go. You are terribly irresponsible."

"Mimi!"

"But I let you go for the money and-"

"Mimi, I've got to get Stu to the hospital!"

"_What_? What on earth happened?"

"I'll explain later but really I've—"

He heard the shuffling sound of her covering the receiver. There was mumbling and then a shifting.

"John?"

"Lucy?" His tense shoulders suddenly relaxed. "What are you doing at Mimi's?"

"I come over to keep her company. She's terribly worried about you, you know."

He scoffed. "Yeah, I could tell."

"What's happened?"

"There's been an accident and I...I think it's what gets Stu."

"I don't think I understand."

"Lucy, please don't play this act right now, this is serious."

"Serious how?"

"He's going to fucking die someday soon, that's how serious," he growled. He hated how she was pretending she did not know. Sure, it was an act to withdraw any possible suspicion but sometimes it was so infuriating.

Lucy was silent for a minute on the other line. "Tell him if he doesn't go, Mimi will personally murder him."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, John cracked a smile. "Will do. I'll see you later. Tell Mimi I love her, yeah?"

"Yeah."

The line disconnected.

John took a deep breath, anticipating the next few hours. The fear tasted bitter in his mouth; what was going to happen? What if everything went as it did before? He blinked slowly, clearing away the pessimistic thoughts. No, that was not possible—he hadn't spoken to Lucy the first time around.

"Well?" Alan prompted, pulling John from his silent reverie. "Are you going to tell me what was so damn important?"

He adopted a look of disgust and stood. "Not."

In the storeroom, he found a scene of pure chaos. George was cowering in the corner while Pete and Barry tried to wrestle Stu into submission with the latter shoving a screaming Paul's face into a pillow.

"What the hell is going on?" John demanded over the noise.

"He won't cooperate," Pete grunted, grabbing Stu's arm before it's fist smacked him in the face.

"I ain't going to a hospital," Stu yelled.

"You're going!"

"I can't breathe!" Paul cried.

George rocked back and forth while mumbling under his breath, ears covered. John ran a hand over his face in exasperation. That's when he got a brilliant idea, whereas last time he had already given up. He motioned for the captors to hold Stu still while he advanced, weapon in hand. In a matter of minutes, Stu found himself bound and gagged, being carried bridal style. He grumbled and shot glares the entire way.

John burst through the hospital doors, searching for someone to help him. When he spotted a doctor he rushed over, breathless.

"You have to help," he gushed.

"What is it?" the doctor asked, instantly alert.

"My friend's been in an accident!"

On cue, the others ran in. The doctor raised a brow at the state Stu was in. He tried terribly hard to suppress a smile. "What has happened?"

"Oh, it was terrible! There was some sort of freak sexual bondage incident. There was blood everywhere! It was a terrible idea; why'd you let us do it?" He shot an accusatory glare at Pete, who was holding both Stu and a laugh.

Stu began struggling and spit out the gag. "Hey, fuck you, Lennon!"

"With pleasure," John winked.

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, I am a busy man so I must be on my way."

"There's not even anyone here!" Paul accused, indicating the vacant waiting room.

"He really needs help," George urged. "Check his head!"

The man did as he was told. He ran a hand through Stu's hair, noting how the man tried to hide a gasp of pain, as well as the sticky red liquid coating his fingers.

"Oh, dear." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned his hands. He then beckoned a nurse over and instructed her in rapid German to prepare an emergency room. It was once he had Stu put on a stretched that he noticed he had passed out again. "We must hurry."

John began to panic as he watched as Stu was carted away for some medical procedure. He began to follow until the nurse put a hand on his chest and jabbed a long-nailed finger at the waiting room. Wooden legs carried him far enough to collapse into one of the stiff chairs.

He was in for a long night.

/.\

John's mind was only half on the performance he was in the middle of. He sang familiar words into a microphone, fingers dancing across guitar strings that yearned for his subtle touch. None of that required much attention anymore. Hell, he wasn't even focused on the German that thought it was fun to throw things at the band.

A band of only four now.

There in the distance shrouded in darkness was a lonely person seated at a table swirling a finger in a glass of scotch. He was absolutely miserable, John could tell. He would much prefer to be up there on the stage in his designated spot beside John, even if music wasn't his first choice for a profession.

Stu had recently been admitted from the hospital. The doctor had told John an the others it was a good thing he saw Stu when he did as the damage was quite severe and could have been potentially life threatening (Mission accomplished? John thought smugly.) Stu had been "home" for about a week now and despite his good health, albeit still mending, he was not happy. Doctor Haus had prohibited him from doing anything too strenuous so he was forced to sit and watch something he should have been a part of. The gauze wrapped tightly around his head was a reminder that it was _their_ fault.

There was only one thing that could cheer John up. John mulled over this as he wrapped up the song he couldn't quite remember. What had it been? "Ain't She Sweet"? It didn't really matter. What _did_ matter was he was getting fucking tired of being pelted with peanuts.

"If you throw one more of those things I will personally shove my guitar up your ass," he warned. The shower of peanuts stopped. "Much better. I give you all permission to teach that man a lesson." The peanut storm started again, only this time it was aimed elsewhere. "Let's keep this show going."

Like clockwork, the door of the bar opened. Everything slowed and the light returned to Stu's eyes. Astrid Kircherr smiled as she sat beside him. John felt the old stirring of attraction and jealousy but he ignored it. Instead, he focused on dancing though George's guitar solo and the laughs he got.

Once the song ended, he said, "In honor of…well, just because, I'd like to ask a friend to lend his pretty little vocal chords. Stu, if you would?"

Shocked, Stu stood warily. He let his fingers slip from Astrid's as he approached the stage. John made a show of removing the bloody gauze. Stu smiled and tenderly ruffled his own hair.

"It feels nice to have that off," he said into the microphone. He slid off his sunglasses and slowly composed himself. When the music filled his soul, he began singing, his eyes never leaving her face. "_Love me tender…_"

Astrid grinned brightly throughout the entire song.


	6. Deportation

Chapter 6: Deportation

Paul McCartney seated himself at the crowded little table, pulling a blue ballpoint pen out of a pocket of his leather jacket. He casually folded his cheap imitation sunglasses and stowed them away, earning an eye roll from John who was clearly not impressed. Chewing on the end of the pen as he stared holes into the blank paper before him, he absentmindedly signaled for the bar maid to provide him with a mug. She all too eagerly obliged, setting it down _just so_ as she gave him a clear view of her massive chest hidden behind flimsy material. With a dapper wink he set her off, the promise of something more lingering in the smoky air.

"You're not seriously writing now, Paul?" George questioned in shock, watching as his friend's pen began flying across the paper.

"Inspiration works in mysterious ways, George," was the vague response he received. George shook his head and turned to chat up the pretty brunette that was practically sitting in his lap. She leaned in to whisper something suggestive and the tips of his ears burned bright red.

Stu chuckled at the young boy before gulping down the remnants of his lukewarm beer. The empty mug slammed against the worn wood of the table, scaring several of the girls seated around them. He smiled charmingly at them and they all tittered excitedly.

"Sorry, gals, he's spoken for," John smirked.

"As are you," Stu reminded him with a raised eyebrow. "Or have we forgotten all about poor Cynthia waiting at home for you, hmm?"

"I can make you forget Cynthia," the blond beside John purred, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I'm sure you can," John winked. The grin he gave almost scared the other band members but the girls took it as an open invitation to leave Stu's side and flock to his. "I haven't forgotten about Cyn," he continued, trailing a hand up the blonde's thigh. "I'm just having a bit of fun."

"I'm sure that'll be a fine explanation," Pete said, voice heavy-laden with sarcasm.

"I'm being nice and writing her a letter," John declared, brandishing his own paper and pen. Poking his tongue out of the side of his mouth, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "D'ya think 'I miss your rotund tits' is romantic at all?"

George choked on his beer.

"Most definitely," Stu said in between fits of laughter.

"I think she'll appreciate your use of good vocabulary," Pete offered helpfully.

Paul chuckled and took the paper from John's hand. "Is there anything of real value in here?"

"Yeah, like a tally of how many birds you've shagged?" Stu suggested.

"Let's see… 'And I also miss that thing you do in bed,'" Paul read, "'you know, the thing where you—'"

The sentence was interrupted by Paul's laughter and the cries of protest from the others. John smirked again and retrieved his letter.

"I think she'll appreciate it," he said, writing more.

"I didn't," George grimaced. "I'd rather not know of your sexual exploits, thanks."

"Paul was the one to read it! This letter is a private matter, ya hear?"

"I'm curious," Stu began. "What exactly were you talking about?"

John handed him the letter. Both Stu and Pete read over the words, eyes widening in amazement.

"Cynthia does that?" Pete asked in awe.

"She'll do anything I tell her," John answered proudly.

Stu shook his head, chuckling under his breath.

"It's twelve, by the way," John suddenly announced.

"Beg your pardon?"

"My tally of pretty birds sitting in a row: twelve."

Paul snorted. "I'd say at _least_ eight. There were some you had twice."

John patted the younger boy's head condescendingly. "Silly Paul. When I say twelve I mean it. You know how you don't wear the same outfit twice? I don't shag the same bird more than once."

"You make me sound like some OCD creep," Paul said defensively, taking to his nervous habit of chewing on his pen while curling the tip of his hair.

"He's just stating the obvious," George smirked.

A woman with bright red hair sauntered over to the table then and seated herself in Paul's lap. He grinned encouragingly at her as he put his arms around her waist. Suddenly, though, he caught sight of the wristwatch wrapped tightly on his arm. It had been a gift given to him by his mother, Mary, before she passed away. Always a favorite trinket of his, paired with his obsession of knowing the time and the sentimental value, he was constantly wearing the watch.

And now, it was quite handy in informing him the band was set to perform in almost twenty minutes.

"Lads, we've got to get a shake on things," he said, politely dislodging the woman from his person. "Show starts soon."

"Fucking Christ," Pete muttered, pulling a cigarette out of his mouth long enough for him to exhale the stale smoke.

George coughed briefly, batting away the short-lived clouds. He stood slowly, wobbling slightly under the pleasant force of two mugs of beer. He smiled goofily at those around him as he led the way out of the nondescript bar. Paul followed after him, winking at a girl he was almost positive he could get into his bed in a matter of minutes. Pete rolled his eyes at the former but followed anyway. Stu hesitated, watching the retreating forms of three of his friends and the still form of his best mate who was still seated in his chair, engaged in conversation with the blond.

"You coming?" he wondered aloud.

John simply glared at him, upset that he had been interrupted. The two had a bit of a staring contest for several minutes. Neither looked away. The remaining girls shifted uncomfortably. After what seemed to be an eternity, John cracked a grin. He admired Stu for being able to challenge him head on, whereas the others would have certainly backed down long ago under his steely glare.

"You're all right, Stu," he decided, raising his glass to his friend.

Stu refrained from rolling his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. You coming or what?"

"I'll be there in a bit."

"Don't take too long – you know Alan will have your head if you're late."

"Do I care?"

Stu gave John a critical look. He was far too lax about certain things but boiling under the surface was someone who _did_ care. He could lie and cheat all he wanted but Stu knew better – he always had and he always will.

"Just don't take too long," he finally said before turning on his heel and taking his leave.

The four boys walked in companionable chatter to the Kaiserkeller club, ignoring the anxious feeling creeping up their legs like spindly spiders spawned by their stubborn leader's lack of presence. The night was fairly young – to the band at any rate – bearing simply a few brief hours of darkened glow. Chilled air shimmered around them, alive with musical excitement and acrid cigar smoke stained a foul purple. Rowdy laughter escaped a door held ajar by a burly man who eyed the potential customers with something akin to contempt. His eyes shone with recognition when he caught sight of them.

"Where's the fifth?" he demanded in heavily accented English after performing a head count.

"He's coming," Stu assured the doorman, Horst Fascher, as he shouldered past him into the club.

"Why is he not with you?" Horst turned his accusing glare on Pete who stood unperturbed.

"You know how he is."

Horst growled and turned to the remaining two. Paul picked at his nails, waiting for the bigger man to move out of the way so he could enter the club as well. George, though, was staring transfixed at a drug deal transpiring on the other side of the street. He watched in great interest as a man in an oversized trench coat and fedora fished a tiny plastic bag out of his pocket when he thought no one was looking. When he had received his payment from a haggard-looking hooker, his beady eyes darted back and forth before slipping the item into the woman's hand. His gaze met that of his audience and he flipped up his collar before shuffling away.

"George!"

George blinked slowly, fixing his focus on Paul. "Yeah?"

"Stop watching the druggies and get ready for the show!"

He allowed himself to be pulled into the club, sparing one more glance at the street full of scandalous people.

Horst sighed in frustration and ran a hand along his face, following the boys inside.

Meanwhile, in a nearly empty bathroom secluded from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the club, a daring young man roughly pressed an eager girl against a stall door. He tried to ignore the rambunctious sounds filtering through the cracks of the door, and the disgusting atmosphere he was in. No, nothing would ruin this pleasure. Not even the crumpled letter lying on the cluttered floor back in his room his thoughts vaguely shifted to, a forgotten letter shattered like the promises he had given to another. He mentally shooed away the inklings of guilt settling into his weary mind as he thread his fingers through her blond curls and trailed a hand along her exposed flesh, giving into the sin with a satisfied moan.

That was when the pair was doused in cold water.

"What the hell?" John snapped, wiping the wetness from his eyes.

"That's how we break apart dogs," Horst snickered with a viscous smirk.

"Piss off," John growled, burying his face in the girl's neck. She gasped in surprise.

Fascher pulled John back by the shoulder and gave him a nasty glare. John had the good graces to look intimidated. "Are you _mad_? You are under contract!"

John shook him off. "Yeah? So? I'm kind of busy if you don't mind."

Fascher yanked him out of the stall and thrust a finger in his face. "You have a job to do. I have saved your ass far too many times. This is the last. Now get out!"

"I can't play soaking wet!" John complained.

Horst laughed bitterly. "I don't give a shit. You're going onstage and I don't care if you do it naked." With that, he stormed out of the bathroom, not before shooting John another deathly glare.

"What are you to do?" the girl asked in broken English, giving him her best coy smile.

He sighed as he pulled his underpants up. "Not you, sadly. We'll finish this up later, 'kay?" He winked and she giggled.

She watched curiously as he moved past her into the stall again. "What are you doing?"

"Going off to perform in style," he answered simply, leaving the bathroom and the girl whose name he did not know behind with his fashion statement in hand.

Grabbing his guitar from where it was lounging backstage, he bounded out after the band and stood before the crowd in all of his glory. The club immediately erupted into fits of laughter at the sight: John was wearing nothing but his underwear and a stolen toilet seat around his neck. Horst ran into the club to see what was happening but stopped dead in his tracks when he caught a look at Lennon. Shaking his head, he chuckled and gave the boy a mock salute. John saluted him with a "Heil Hitler" and a cocky smirk.

Raking a hand through his still damp hair, John ignored the laughter and the exasperated smirks of his band mates as he began playing his guitar. He broke into a rendition of Chuck Berry's "Johnny B. Goode", gleefully singing the lyrics with the crazed duck walk and all.

Never did he once care about how ridiculous he looked.

/.\

"Nice show!"

John lazily raised a hand in acknowledgement. He swirled the contents of his shot glass around, frowning when he realized it was nearly empty. A mystical bottle of tequila somehow found its way before him. He grinned up at Pete and poured them both fresh shots, which he downed in one go. He shivered as the sour burn carved a path through his body, all the while disregarding the people that shot him amused looks. He flipped off a drunken group of onlookers and pulled his jacket tighter around him.

"Never a dull moment with you, eh Lennon?" Stu smiled.

"Never," John agreed, pouring himself another shot. He suddenly felt empty, and in need of alcoholic reassurance. The tequila smoothed out the edges of his blazing emotions, making them somewhat bearable. He couldn't explain the feelings, not even to himself – all he knew was that bottle was nearing its last drop and that couldn't happen.

"Christ, did you see that little old man in the front?" Paul asked, sipping from his mug. "You nearly gave him a heart attack."

"Aye, he looked about ready to jump your bones," Pete chuckled as he took a drag from his cigarette.

George snatched the cigarette from its perch between Pete's smiling lips and put it between his own. He tapped it against the ash tray, creating a minute avalanche of broken ash. "Or maybe John just scared him off. I'm pretty sure I saw him run away screaming after the first song."

The others broke off into a loud discussion and John smacked the back of George's head. The latter smiled sheepishly. A curious looking man approached them amidst the late night commotion, smiling with a feral glint in his eye.

"Good evening," he greeted. Then he chuckled. "Or perhaps a 'good day' is more appropriate?"

The boys only looked at him. He fingered his collar fretfully and cleared his throat. "My apologies. You boys have amazing potential and great talent."

"What of it?" John questioned, wishing this stranger would cut to the chase.

"I come bearing a proposition, you see."

"Oh?"

"I am from the Top Ten Club and we are seeking talented musicians, much like you."

"I'm sorry, sir, but we're under contract with the Kaiserkeller," Paul informed him sadly.

John kicked him under the table.

The man smiled in understanding. "Ah, such loyal boys. But I assure you I can make it worth your while."

For the second time that night, George choked on his beer.

Pete rolled his eyes. "Not like _that_, you idiot."

"How much are we talking?" Stu demanded.

The man produced a personalized pad of paper from his jacket as well as a gold-plated pen. He hastily scribbled a figure before neatly folding the paper and gently sliding it to the center of the table. Never taking his eyes off of him, John gathered the paper and opened it for all to see. His eyes went wide.

"Beatle conference!" he suddenly announced.

The boys leaned away from the table and crowded around John, conversing in hushed tones.

"That's a lot of money," Pete said.

"But we're under contract," George countered.

"And that club's the enemy," Paul added.

"But that's a lot of money!" Pete repeated.

"It is," Stu agreed, nodding. "I've a bad feeling 'bout this, though. What do you think, John?"

They all looked to their unofficial leader who appeared pensive. Abruptly he retreated from the circle and extended a hand to the man from the Star-Club.

"You've got yourself a deal."

Top Ten Club Man grinned, reminding John of the Cheshire Cat. His own smile turned sour. Had he made the right choice?

/.\

John didn't doubt that decision much when the band began collecting more money and slept in better lodgings. He glanced at George who was literally bouncing in his spot. He beamed at John and roared into an uncalled for guitar solo.

"Are you sure them pills were a good idea?" Stu asked in his ear.

He shrugged. "You're awake, ain't ya? And Rich swears by them." He nodded towards the audience where a man with pronounced sideburns and rings decorating every finger danced drunkenly, brandishing a sloshing beer mug.

Stu grimaced. "What a weird bloke.

John merely chuckled.

The song's ending was followed by loud applause. John fumbled with his guitar strings as George stepped up to take over vocals.

"This song's called 'Roll Over Beethoven,'" he announced eagerly.

No sooner had he started than the club's doors burst open. The owner of the Kaiserkeller and the closed-down Indra, Bruno Koschmider, stormed in, looking truly frightening. Smirking at John, he snapped something in German to an official looking man. Two men jumped onto the stage and grabbed George.

"Hey!" he cried, putting up a struggle.

John and Stu immediately dropped their guitars and lunged for the men. The audience looked on in shock.

"You must not work here," one man shouted. "He is a minor! Is not allowed!"

"What are you going to do with him?" Paul demanded as they escorted a still struggling George out of the club."

"Work out the deportation situation," another answered. "He shall be sent home as soon as possible."

"Deportation," John spat as if the word were a vulgar one. "Bollocks! You did this," he growled, jumping into the crowd and advancing on Koschmider. "You're ruining this."

"You asked for it," was the easy response.

John spit in his face and pushed past him. The others followed after him, watching as he angrily paced the darkened streets of the Reeperbahn, occasionally taking his frustrations out on an innocent rock. What was he to do? The trip had been going so well: they were making something of themselves and now this. Then he froze. What would Mimi say?

"This is such shit," Stu shouted into the night sky. John grunted in agreement.

"We shouldn't have done this," Paul sighed.

"Well we can't change anything, can we?" John snapped. The fact of the matter was he _could_ have changed this.

But he didn't.

And he was okay with that.

"What are we going to do?" Pete asked quietly.

John stopped his pacing and exhaled noisily. "It wouldn't be right if we stayed here, would it?"

"George might not like it so much."

Stu's eyes widened. "We can't leave. What about Astrid?"

Paul glared at him. "I'm not going to stay for _your_ girlfriend."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Do I? All I know is you're a dirty selfish bastard who can't even fucking play the bass!"

John resumed his pacing throughout their little banter. Pete watched them all warily but said nothing.

"Christ, Paul, you're such a little bitch! We all know you have a problem with me. Why don't you do something about it, huh?"

"Maybe I will!"

A sigh escaped John's parched lips. He grabbed Paul by his collar before he lunged at Stu, who was in turn being restrained by Pete.

"Stop it, will ya?" he snapped in irritation. "Stop being a bunch of fucking pricks and get over your petty problems. We've got bigger tits to fondle, kay?"

The boys grumbled a nondescript response but grudgingly obliged. Paul pulled himself out of the John's grip and moved away, capturing a cigarette between two fingers.

"I'm going back to the Bambi Kino," he said. "I've got some stuff there I need."

"I'll go with you," Pete said. "I left something there, too."

Paul and Pete retreated into the bleak darkness, fending off the unforgiving cold. Driven by instinct, the pair pulled the worn leather jackets even tighter so around themselves as a means of protection against the heavy burden of the night. Shallow breaths manifested before them in little tufts of ice clinging to fragile air. Shuffling footsteps sounded louder than necessary as they barreled into a sudden uncertain future.

They entered the Bambi Kino without a sound, creeping to the horrendous storeroom they had been forced to live in with a companionable silence encompassing them. The room looked bare, showing almost no signs of life save for the occasional rat scuttling by. Paul scratched at his gelled hair as he looked around, taking in the minimal amount of oxygen to spare himself from the grotesque scent wafting through the ugly walls. He knelt on the floor to peer under one of the bunk beds where he kept his much needed sugar stash. When he surfaced, chocolate bar in hand, he batted the eager dust bunnies off of an interesting little package.

"Aye, Pete?" he called.

"Yeah?" Pete answered from where he was throwing shirts into a tattered duffel bag.

"Is this yours?" Paul asked, showing him the little square condom wrapper. The corners of his lips threatened to quirk ever so slightly.

"Does it have my initials on it?"

Paul frowned. "What?"

"My initials," Pete repeated, dusting his hands off. "Are they on there?"

"Are you…Are you yanking my chain?"

"No."

He seemed completely serious. Paul's eye twitched. "Why would your initials be on it?"

Pete gazed at him as if he were crazy. "So I don't get them confused with any of you lots'."

"But a condom's a condom, yeah?"

"Not," he scoffed, pulling out a lighter. "I like mine. They're nice and smooth."

The effort required to refrain from laughing was almost too much. "But you don't write your name on a condom! You do that for underwear, yeah, but a condom?"

"What are you saying?" Pete demanded, cigarette hanging coyly from his mouth. "Are you saying I'm a prude? A nerd?"

"I'm not saying anything," Paul said simply, forcing his smile down. He stood and dusted his hands. Suddenly, he had a brilliant idea. "Hey, Pete, why don't we do something to get back at Koschmider?"

"What are you thinking?"

"Something that'll be like a kick in the ass, or like flipping him the bird."

Pete feigned pensive thought for a minute. He glanced at the unused condom in Paul's hand and the lighter in his own. Then he smiled. "Let's do it."

/.\

"_What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?_"

John watched with grim satisfaction as Pete and Paul winced under the force of his booming voice. George stood off to the side picking at his nails with an old guitar pick, indifference and slight contentment burning under his skin. The two under John's steely glare shivered slightly, looking off to the side. But he forced himself into their line of vision, tapping a toe impatiently.

"I can't hear you!"

"We were getting revenge," Paul finally said, voice wavering slightly. "We didn't know it would get us deported, honestly."

"Yeah, well you were wrong," John snapped, pacing once more.

The four boys were, to John's misfortune, back in England – had been for a few weeks, though no one dared speak to the others at first. Out of fear or embarrassment, it was not clear. George had arrived several days prior to the others on his own. After Pete and Paul pinned a condom to the wall of the Bambi Kino and killed it with the brilliant flames slumbering in a plastic lighter, the Germans had them deported as well. John's thoughts became unfocused as he pictured the scene: fire eating away at the slick latex, the scent of the burnt material alerting others to a problem. He absentmindedly flicked open his own lighter as he continued his frazzled movements.

He had intended on remaining in Hamburg for a bit longer but he did not have much of a choice once his work permit expired. A lonesome sigh left his lips, escaping to the frigid air swirling monotonously about him. It came to life in a visible mist, making him feel like a young boy pretending to be a dragon for a moment. He batted the air away and rounded on the boys once more.

"What are we supposed to do?"

"What _can_ we do?" Pete countered. "We haven't got our instruments still. Me mum and I have been calling those damned Germans for days trying to recover them. They say they should be here in a soon."

"I hope so," John replied gruffly.

"And we don't have Stu, either," Paul said. "Does he plan on coming back?"

John ignored the obvious glee Paul harbored towards Stu's absence. "I got a letter from him yesterday: Astrid's loaning him some money to come back." He sighed again. "I'm tired. I'm going to Mimi's"

"Why not go back to your place?"

"I don't feel like it."

Without another word, he turned his back to his friends and set off down the icy walk. He yanked his jacket tighter around his bulky frame to battle the chill. In a matter of minutes, he found himself before his aunt's home. There was something in the snow, though, that caught his attention, preventing him from going forward.

She was lying in the snow, wheat blond hair sprawled around her like a powdery halo. Her long lashes were sugar coated and sweet, lightly dusting cheeks flushed candy red in the cold. Her thin fingers played with piles of snow as her arms dragged the fluff closer to her layered body. If he looked hard enough, John might truly believe that she was flying.

"Hello John," she murmured. Her voice was low, almost too quiet to hear. But he would always hear. She sat up, gazing at him with smiling wintry blue eyes.

He grinned, seating himself beside her. His teeth clashed against one another as he shivered relentlessly. "Hello Lou. What are you doing here?"

"Making snow angels."

He snorted at the irony. "You make a beautiful angel, Lucy."

"Thank you."

"How'd you know I would be here?"

"You told me."

He lifted an eyebrow curiously.

She placed a hand above his heart, never breaking eye contact. "Here."

Silence reigned among them for a minute or two, but it was not awkward. After he had his fill of those mystical eyes, he hoisted himself off of the ground and held out a hand for her. "Why don't we go inside for some hot chocolate?"

She nodded and took his hand. A sudden smile broke across her face as they walked into the house, hand in hand.

"Welcome back, John."

* * *

_Wow, I am sososo sorry guys. I've been slightly uninspired with this story and burdened by school work so updating was not that easy...I'd like to point out, however, that I am NOT abandoning this. I've got this mapped out in my head pretty far so there's no way I can just abandon Lucy. Summer's knocking at my door in a matter of days so I should (hopefully) be able to start up writing again. Oh, and fun fact: I finally turned seventeen in April. Just so you all know :) Anyway, I changed the beginning of this chapter a million times before I stuck with this. And I really like writing the boys interactions with one another so that was probably my favorite part of this chapter. Not sure if it's up to par but I hope you enjoy, review, and forgive me for my lateness!_

_D'ya think you guys could maybe check out my Harry Potter stories? Particularly the oneshots, they're my personal faves. Mkay, I'm out! _

_Have a lovely day all (:_

_ps.  
I come on to fanfiction for the first time in weeks and find a new layout... MIND BLOWN.  
_


	7. Moving Up in the World

_So, I am terribly sorry for this horribly long delay. I know it might not seem like it but I am NOT giving up on this story. I've just had a bit of a tough time with the muses...Oh, they're quite helpful for events that transpire later on but not for events that help bridge the gap between then and now. Anyway, do forgive me! I hope this was worth the wait :s_

* * *

Chapter 7: Moving Up in the World

"Stu's getting married."

Lucy glances up from the magazine she had been perusing, hand hanging over the edge of the page in a moment of shock. She recovers nicely, however, soon adopting her visage of airy stupor.

"I'm happy for him," she says with a smile, returning to a lengthy article on an American musician by the name of Elvis.

John nods his assent and leans back in his chair, cigarette balancing between his lips. He studies her for a moment before allowing his mind to wander. Thoughts swirl around his life thus far, attempting to decipher how he had managed to get here, just _here_. As of now, things were strolling along quite swimmingly. The past few months had been such a stretch of incidents that, even having lived through them once before, filled John to the brim with such promising _hope_.

It began, quite appropriately, in that grand old city of Liverpool. The Beatles, sans Stu, had carried on after the rather abrupt departure from Hamburg. Pete and his mother had successfully acquired the instruments from the "dirty, gormless codgers," as Mona Best had so kindly put it. John and Paul had instantly set about working on some sort of new material while they (reluctantly) left the business of scouring gigs to Pete and George. The band put on a show at the Litherland Town Hall and, a few days later, performed a show to ring in the New Year at Mona's place, the Casbah Club.

The time afterwards consisted of the first lunchtime performance at the Cavern, the first (legal) drink of George's, and an all-night show bidding farewell to the Beatles as the boys readied themselves for yet another tour in the lustrous city of Hamburg. Before the rapidly approaching departure, though, Stu came to John in the late night hours to sit and talk over a nightcap. The wary look fleetingly succumbing Stu's serene features did not go unnoticed. After a seemingly endless silence, John slid his watered down scotch onto the stained coffee table between them and settled his friend with a _look_.

Stu smiled sheepishly, finally conceding to having been caught. He sighs dejectedly as he prepares himself for what truly must be quite trying. John offers a dull roll of his eyes as encouragement. He's leaving, Stu manages to choke out over the clinking of melting ice in his glass. John doesn't understand and he voices as much. The band, Stu clarifies. He's leaving the band for good. Music just isn't for him. It should have been obvious, shouldn't it? He's clearly no musician, which had been clear over his lackluster feelings towards the performance, most of which Paul was quick to point out.

Paul's words don't mean a damn, John snaps.

Unless it's musical word, Stu retorts with a chuckle.

He's not leaving simply _because_ he no longer feels the need to be a Beatle, he continues, trying to relieve the scowl working its way up John's face. Art is his calling and he wishes to answer the damn phone before his dream has to leave yet another poignant reminder that he's going to regret ignoring the blatant predetermined conception yet again. He'll study art in Germany and make something of himself that way. After all, he's already been accepted to the school of his choice.

"Why Germany?" John wonders after sullenly consuming this information.

Stu shifts uncomfortably for a moment, though his grin is blinding and sappy. "Astrid," he explains meaningfully. "John, I'm in love with her. I think I want to marry her."

John nearly chokes on his drink. Perhaps something a bit stronger would have been appropriate for this topic?

"Don't you ever think about marrying Cyn?" Stu demands incredulously as he analyzes that look.

Of course he has, he says a bit waspishly. He simply doesn't understand why Stu feels the need to rush. After all, they're hardly into their twenties! Why does he feel the need to settle down now?

"I'm not like you, John," Stu says sourly. His smirk takes a twisted turn. "I don't want to shag every broad on the coast. I'm happy with what I've got."

John's mouth snaps open, wanting desperately to supply an acidic response. His character was being called into question here; there was no way he was going to take this quietly. But something inside of him breaks and he thinks of a certain blond who would have stared at him with that infuriatingly calm way of hers that would have him doubt everything he ever stood for. So he settles for an indifferent glance and sidles farther into the frayed cushions. He raises his glass to Stu and wishes him the best.

The beginning of April had seen a healthy dose of competitive pranks and the start of their temporary employment at the Top Ten Club (sans Stu yet again, of course). John was recovering from the unnoticed swap of salt for sugar in his morning tea when the weight of the future settled around him in a thick fog. He felt selfish, thinking he was losing his best friend. And there was that secondary stab of jealousy that he had not won over the illustrious Astrid Kircherr. Those thoughts were roughly shoved to the dark recesses of his mind as the botched Beatle line-up shared the bill with Rory Storm and the Hurricanes, and provided backup vocals for a Tony Sheridan single.

He's going somewhere, he thinks somberly. If it takes an insufferable amount of time or prellies to stay awake or friends lost to some German bird, he will make it. He is sure of it.

"Are you going to take Cynthia?"

John startles at Lucy's gentle wonderings. She's gazing at him with those imploring eyes that swirl the mysteries of his life and her being, the meaning of the world and the hazards such knowledge can possess. Her innocence encompasses her like the halo he knows should be shimmering atop her blond head and he suddenly feels terribly unworthy.

"John?"

He nods his assent and smiles. "I think she'll like it. She's been so moody lately; something like a wedding ought to cheer her up, yeah?"

Lucy smiles back. "Yes, I'm sure it will. Weddings always seem to have that effect. Unless, of course, you're a lonely old maid."

John chuckles.

"When did he and Astrid get engaged?"

"A few months ago."

"John!"

"What?"

"Why didn't you tell me _then_?"

He shrugs. "Didn't feel like it I guess." He fishes through the stack of song lyrics and mail littering his coffee table for something he proceeds to hand her. She stares at it a moment and frowns.

"I'm assuming Stu asked you to hand this to me several weeks ago, yes?"

"Pretty much."

She rolls her eyes. "Thank goodness you don't run a country nor have children. You would probably forget to set the budget or feed the kid or something."

He smiles and stands to stretch. "I'm off to see Cynthia," he announces. "I promised her we'd go out; haven't seen her since we left."

Lucy nods absentmindedly and waves him away, returning once more to her magazine.

John finds Cynthia in what can only be described as _their spot_. It's a seemingly abandoned playground hidden by overgrown shrubbery and the knack of the citizens to simply grow up. Just beneath that tree there was where he first worked up the nerve to kiss her, he remembers. And ever since then, the pair would sneak down to the spot under the cloak of night to enjoy one another's company. Cynthia does not hear him as he strolls past the rusting fence and sits beside her on the creaking swing set. She sways gently with the tepid breeze, humming under her breath.

"Hullo Cyn," he says after a few minutes of subdued swinging.

She hooks a strand of hair behind her ear and finally turns to face him. "Hullo John."

He waits for her to say more, to demand to know why he has not been to see her. He waits for her to claim she knows all about the scandalous things he did, the girls he had in his bed. He waits for her to declare her undying devotion and oh, they should be happily married by the dawn. But she doesn't. She simply sits there, staring out at the world around them.

"Is everything all right?" he presses. Her eyes alight upon his face and he notices the absentminded vagueness lingering in her eyes, something he feels only belongs to Lucy.

"I missed you," Cynthia says by way of a gusty sigh. "Oh, God, John, I missed you."

He smiles tenderly. "I've missed you, too."

"I don't want you to ever leave again," she says with such sudden urgency. She's out of the swing now, pacing before him and beginning to scare him. "Whenever you leave I just…I just get these _thoughts_. What if something happens to you? What if you go off and impregnate some whore and leave me? What if your music career takes off and you forget all about me? What if you _died_? What if I don't—?"

She's cut off and he's not sure if it's his restraining hand or the queasy look of one saying far too much that's done it.

"Cynthia, relax," he chuckles, pulling her towards him. "Nothing has happened to me. I'm alive and kicking, don't ya see? And as for the pregnant whore…" He trails off and her look of horror subsides as she realizes he's messing with her.

She gives him a playful shove and they are both upset by the motion of the swing beneath them. "Don't say things like that. You might make me jealous."

John's face takes on a mask of faux horror. "Why, Cynthia Powell? _Jealous_? Pish posh!"

"Oh, Mr. Lennon, one Miss Powell can prove to be quite the envious female," she retorts with her nose held high in the air. "But alas, kind sir, my dignity permits one such as me, what with such _high_ standards, to hardly play down at the level of that insufferable woman you parade around with. What was her name again?"

"Elizabeth Taylor."

Cynthia snorts out a laugh. "Oh, I missed you so much."

He allows her thin arms to drape around his shoulders as he plants a kiss on her forehead. "I know, Cyn, I know."

"Don't you leave me again, you hear?"

He nods and succumbs to a comfortable silence, rocking the pair of them to a state of severe contentment.

ooo

"Hey, get a load of this!"

Paul drops a magazine on the table and it hits the wooden top with a loud _smack_. John looks up from where he is doodling in a legal pad to the new addition to the room's décor.

"How nice, another magazine for me rack in the loo," he says, quickly losing interest.

Paul rolls his eyes. "It'd be nice if you actually _read_ it, Lennon."

Pete snorts into his oatmeal. "Lennon reading? Fat chance." He grabs the magazine and scans the cover, a slow smile warming his face. "Well, I'll be damned."

"What is it?" George wonders, putting down the guitar he had been tuning.

"We're in _Mersey Beat_ again!" Paul explains. "And not because John wrote his own essay about us."

"Someone had to do it," John replies airily.

George grabs the publication from Pete. "Front page? We're really moving up in the world!"

"What's it about?" John asks, fleeting interest returning.

"Our contract with Kaempfert after the whole 'My Bonnie' thing."

John nods and returns to his doodles. He remembers this moment, and the feeling of pride that had flooded his system. People were going to hear about his band now, they weren't going to be a group of Scousers playing that riffraff his aunt had droned on about. No, George was right. They were moving up in the world. A following had already been established by way of their performances in Hamburg, and now they were quite popular over at the Cavern Club. He allows himself a private smile as his friends titter over the _Mersey Beat_.

On the ninth day of October of that year, John wakes to a general uproar. There is someone banging at his door and a ringing of the telephone and a growling from his mouth. He gets to the telephone in time for his visitors to pick his lock and barge into the apartment.

"Hello John," his Aunt Mimi is saying in that terribly posh way of hers when his band mates, Cynthia, and Lucy shout quite loudly,

"Happy birthday!"

"You've lived to see twenty-one, you fucker!"

"John!" Mimi gasps. He sends his friends his best glowering look, though the effect is ruined somewhat by his goofy grin.

"Hello Mimi." His friends get the message then and they promptly shut their mouths.

"I'm calling to wish you a most happy birthday," Mimi continues and he can hear her smile. "Would you care to join me for tea this afternoon?" She pauses for his answer before adding, "I'd appreciate it if you arrived sober."

John chuckles. "Of course, Mimi. I've spent every birthday of my life with you; who am I to break tradition. And if you want me sober, I'll be sober." He crosses his fingers and tells her he loves her and places the receiver back in its holder.

Cynthia launches herself at him and kisses him as if she has something to prove. When she lets up, his friends smirk and come over to hug him or clap him on the back.

"How does it feel to be twenty-one?" Pete asks with a smile.

John feigns thought for a moment before shrugging. "No different than being twenty."

"You say that now but you'll feel it next year when you turn twenty-two," Lucy says.

"We brought you cake!" George announces, brandishing something that does appear to be a cake. He grimaces at the thought of George's baking skills.

"Mona made it," Paul interjects, sensing John's train of thought. "You're not going to die."

"She expects you at the Casbah later," Pete adds. "You know, so you can apologize for thinking her cooking was gonna kill you."

John smiles and takes the offered treat. "Where's me alcohol?" he demands. Cynthia gives a little smile and brandishes a pack of his favorite beer. "I knew I loved you for a reason."

The six sit together at the dining table, eating and drinking and laughing over the funny bits of John's twenty-one years. He smiles at them all, truly grateful for their presence. He feels a little pang, of course, at Stu's missing form but he shoves it aside to celebrate his day. (There's a letter in the mail the next day from both Stu and Astrid along with enough money for him to buy whatever he wants from the liquor store. "Have one on me," Stu writes and John smiles.)

He's lying spread-eagled on his floor several hours later, feeling a headache manifest in his temples from the heavy drinking and Mimi's chastising. The others have run off somewhere and he's alone in the dark until Paul enters. Something is thrown at him and he fumbles for it, feeling the smooth fabric of a hat.

"It's a bowler," Paul explains with a smirk. "Thought you'd look quite dashing in it. Bought one for meself as well."

John laughs and shoves the hat on his head. "Do I look pretty?" he asks with a batting of his eyelashes.

"The prettiest, my dear!"

"So you're twenty-one now," Paul says after a while.

John's nod is lost in the darkened room. "I don't feel any older. I bet it makes you feel younger, huh?"

Paul ignores the question. "That's legal in the US I hear."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. So now you can have a nice tall glass with all of them cranky Americans. How's it make you feel?"

"Like a princess," he scoffs. "They're a bit pretentious, don't you think? Here in the Grand Queen's Land any old sodder can get pissed at the tender age of eighteen. And there they have to wait three more years! What fun is that? All of them old folks waving their glasses around in the face of the youth." He shivers. "Christ, it sounds horrible."

Paul laughs. "I betcha only the holy actually wait. We didn't bother with it."

"True." He leans back on the floor, a content smile on his face. "Today was a good day."

"And it'll only get better."

"How so?"

"We're gonna be famous one day, Johnny. Can't you see it?"

"I can. Where're we going?"

Paul smiles. "To the top, John, to the top."

"And where's that?"

"To the toppermost of the poppermost!"

John gives a drunken giggle. "I'm glad you're my friend, Paulie."

Paul rolls his eyes. "Christ, has all that beer turned you into a sap?"

"Maybe."

They lapse into silence until John says,

"Hey, Paul?"

"Yeah, John?"

"How about we don these striking hats and hitchhike to Paris?"

"Sounds good."


	8. Scars

_I hadn't intended on this chapter coming out this way but I must admit, I quite like it, if only for the insight into Lucy's being and a bit more about John's situation. Chapters seem to be getting shorter, don't they? Sorry, I feel they end so much better the way they do :s Anyway, please enjoy (:_

Chapter 8: Scars

Lucy's smile was a bit unnerving, John had to admit.

"Guess what I've heard," she finally says after a minute of her insufferable _grinning_. John motions for her to continue and she gladly plops into the space beside him. "You've been asked about."

He arches a brow. "Oh?"

"Well, not you per say," she explains in a daze, "but the whole lot of you."

John hides his sigh in a long draw of whiskey. "Luce, you're not making much sense."

She bounces excitedly and _grins_ again. For a moment, John has the sinful thought of choking her. "I was down at the record shop, see? The one owned by that Epstein bloke. And I was there just browsing when these two girls walk in."

"Is this story going anywhere anytime soon?"

She glares. "Sod off. Anyway, I happen to hear them talking to the manager and they were asking for something. The only problem was they didn't have it in the shop as it's not sold here yet but just the fact that they _wanted_ it seems so fantastic that I just had to tell you!"

His eyes flutter close as he searches for patience. "Lucy. You haven't really told me what they were asking for."

"Oh," she frowns. "Sorry. They were asking for that record you did with Tony Sheridan! Not simply because of Sheridan but because of the _Beatles_. Isn't it wonderful?"

John grunts as he heaves himself from the sofa. "Just lovely."

Lucy follows him into the kitchen, her steps masked in her gentle stride. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says. "I'm fine."

She shakes her head. "You're not."

"I don't see why you're getting yourself all excited. You and I have known this was coming for a while."

"Stop that," she says, punctuating each word with a smack to his shoulder. "What is _wrong_ with you? You know everything about your life up until you _die_." She ignores his shudder. "It's never stopped you from feeling the same emotions. You're not supposed to let the Knowing affect you; you're supposed to take everything in stride, much as you had before!"

"Did it ever occur to you that I might not give a damn?" he snaps, rounding on her.

She steps back and he tries to take no notice of the hurt in her eyes. "About what, me or your life?" she asks softly. "I don't care if _you_ don't care about me, John, but this is your existence we're talking about. If you're going to act this way and stop caring about it then this was pointless. Don't let His work or my efforts go to waste." She levels him with a meaningful look and he has the grace to feel ashamed.

"I didn't mean it like that, Lu," he sighs, running a hand over his face tiredly. "I just…I don't know, I've felt a bit off lately. Like I'm not really myself."

Lucy's brow furrows and she directs him back to the sofa. The record player scratches to a stop, with the final words of a Buddy Holly song echoing in their ears repeatedly. "Tell me everything," she urges.

"There's not much to tell," he says. "I just feel off. Different."

"Is there a pressure? Here?" She lays a single finger on his chest, running the limb along the rough cotton of his shirt. He nods, feeling momentarily hypnotized. She bites her lip and brings her finger to trace cool circles against his temple. "And here?"

"Yes," he chokes out. "You know what it is, don't you?"

She cradles her hand against her chest, staring at her appendage with an odd expression. "I suppose so," she answers after a beat. "Interesting."

"What is it?" he wonders warily.

" _Coniunctionem animae_."

"Pardon?" John deadpans.

She repeats it.

"What the hell is that?" he asks. "Should I be worried?"

"Not particularly," she answers indifferently. "It purely means 'the joining of the souls' in Latin."

"So what does that mean for me?"

She turns towards him and he knows he can expect the full-on "Angel Lucy" lecture. "What happened to you," she begins, "it is not necessarily 'time travel' as you would like to believe. There is much more at play here."

He can't help the pique in his curiosity. "Like what?"

"Have you ever read time travel stories?" she shoots back. "Have you ever noticed the mechanics at work in the scheme of crossing from one day, month, or year to another? In all of the stories the genius minds of your world have crafted, the perpetrator is almost always sent back to an age in which their presence can be vastly damaging. So in those instances, they must hide away from those that are blissfully unaware of the circumstances. They must work in secret.

"There are two significant differences between those stories and your own. The first is that upon returning, you were not carried here in a separate vessel. Body," she corrected upon his glance. "You were not carried here in a separate body. I suppose that's what makes all of those stories so interesting, don't you think? The fact that there could be two John Lennons running around and the futuristic John would have to strive hard to prevent his presence from threatening his life when he cares to return."

"But that's the whole point of it, right?" John interrupted. "The fact that future John would have been there was written in…whatever and it was supposed to happen, right? So whatever was to happen would have hardly changed anything because it was all going to happen regardless. Destiny and all that shit."

Lucy smiles. "Valid point. Future John may have been so concerned with tarnishing the _future_, though, so he would have tried to change little for fear of the Butterfly Effect. The John I know, however, probably would have crashed onto the scene waving his arms and shouting about things that should change." He chuckled because it was _true_. "But that's not where I'm going with this. There's only one of you in this lifetime. One. Understand?"

He nodded. "Does this have to do with the second difference?"

"Yes, this is where the joining of the souls comes in. You can consider yourself a time traveler if you want the honor, and, in a way, it is exactly what you are. But that is not what the bigger picture is. If you were a true time traveler, the elder John would be running around somewhere saving the day with the John of this time sitting in this room instead, carrying on as if nothing peculiar was happening. Rather than simply thrusting you back in time, what was left of your physical form was left in 1980 while your soul was what traveled."

John's eyes widen and he wants to believe that what she's saying is _rubbish_ but this is _Lucy_ here and nothing she says is _ever_ rubbish. "I—"

"Not done," she says quite abruptly. "Your soul leaving is quite similar to you being born with knowledge of your future. It almost makes you a Seer, but not quite. Perhaps to the untrained eye, like if you were to mention any of this to the boys, which you won't. Anyway, what happened is your soul traveled the astral plane to a time that it deemed open to its existence, which was a few years ago. John's soul was still young, and yours aged in comparison. What happened was, quite simply, the practice of _Coniunctionem animae_. _Your_ soul bound itself to that of John Lennon of the year 1959. The two are now joined."

John stared at her, not sure how to respond. "Um…How does this explain why I feel so weird?"

"Oh, that. I needed you to understand the circumstances. What you're experiencing is simply your young body adjusting to the vessel being inhabited by two souls. Your core is simply realigning itself."

"Is this normal? The feelings, I mean."

"Yes, quite normal," she says with a smile. "I must admit I'm a bit shocked it took so long to happen. In the few cases I've witnessed, the adjustment typically occurs within the first few months or so."

It was in that moment John's _Coniunc _-whatever took a turn for the worst. A searing pain ripped through his chest, creating the feeling of a deadly internal inferno. He cried out in pain, hands flying to his temples to tame the flames there. He was dying, he had to have been. His body was rejecting his soul or something like that, it _had_ to have been. Lucy mentioned no negative consequences, perhaps to spare him from yet another untimely demise. Lungs constricted, temples throbbed, breathing stopped.

This was the end.

"Ah, easy, now."

His eyes flashed open and his vision was flooded with Lucy hovering over him, a strange smile on her face. He adjusted himself from where he had collapsed on the floor. She offered him a hand and led him to his bedroom where he promptly fell into the bed.

"You don't have to be quite so dramatic, you know," she said softly from her spot beside him. "You're not going to die."

"It's so fucking _painful_," he snapped. "You don't understand!"

"Oh, don't I?" There was a challenge in her eyes, one he knew he probably couldn't win. "And when was the last time _you_ had your wings stripped before falling from the Sky, hmm?"

"You're a fallen angel, then?" he says instead.

She laughs and it's like a whisper on a summer breeze. "Well, what did you think I was?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I'm not one for religion but from what I've heard, all those fallen angels were like the bad guys, the ones cast from Heaven."

"Not all were like Lucifer, as he was called in those stories. True, many were unwelcome in our Land but there were the few who were turned out that acted as guardians to humans, the blessed that overlook the goings-on on at closer level. And then there are those such as myself, the angels that were given a task that must be completed before they are able to return."

"Did it really hurt?"

"Hmm?" she replies absentmindedly.

"The fall," he clarifies. "And the…wings."

"He tries to make it gentle," she sighs, "but it is not a very nice process."

"Did it leave scars?"

She meets his eyes and there's something there in her own. "Yes."

"Can…" He takes a deep breath, ignoring the sting in his chest. "Can I see them?"

She hesitates before slowly turning her back to him. He's afraid that she's offended, that she's leaving him and the ache of his soul hurts just a bit more. So he's pleasantly surprised when she drapes her long hair over one shoulder and rolls the hem of her shirt upwards to reveal the tarnished expanse of her back. There, plain as day, are two jagged scars running the expanse of the skin, from her shoulder blades to her waist. John is captivated by them and he tentatively runs a finger along one.

And suddenly, he's thrust into images of Lucy surrounded by her own kind, a man shrouded in blinding light, a gunshot ringing out into the night, a mystical realm of magnificent colors, wings being yanked from the base followed by a horrifying scream.

John recoils, feeling terror seep into his pores. He had just relived moments of her life, moments of _their_ lives that he could have gone without seeing. Lucy rights herself and faces him again.

"I should have warned you," she says by way of apology. "You shouldn't have had to see that."

He's shaking, he realizes, and he's not sure if it's the pictures still flashing through his mind and Lucy's pained cries or the hurt building in his system again. She rests a hand on his shoulder and he flinches but he allows her to gently push him against the pillows.

"Close your eyes," she orders, and he obeys. There's the pleasant fluttering sensation of her lips against his forehead, his eyes, the tip of his nose. "Sleep it off," she whispers. "You'll feel better once you wake."

And he does.


End file.
